


It's Funnier In Enochian (Except When It's Really Not)

by pandemoniax3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Azazel's Special Children, Big Brother Dean, Big Brother Sam, Big Brothers, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Compliant, Dean Being an Asshole, Dean is a Little Shit, Demon Dean, Empathy, F/M, Gen, Implied Castiel/Reader, Loneliness, Reader is a Special Child, Reader is a Winchester, Reader-Insert, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Torturer Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 41,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4927063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandemoniax3/pseuds/pandemoniax3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You noticed it before, and you always hated the smudge under your breast. You were 9 when you asked,</p><p>“Daddy, why do I have a mark like this?”</p><p>Showing him, his eyes would cloud over with guilt.</p><p>“Is it like yours and De's and Sammy's? Does it mean anything?”</p><p>John would shoot up in anger and annoyance, telling you to stop asking so many god damn questions and to go practice field stripping your weapon.</p><p>You would go to your station in silent tears while he would storm over to the mini fridge or the nearest bar. It’s later when Dean explains to you everything.</p><p>With downturn eyes, he explained how his mom was killed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon and that’s why his mark is greyed out.</p><p>“But what exactly is the Mark, De?”</p><p>He would then tell you how it was the Universe granting humans the knowledge and gift of love and prosperity. To know what it feels to belong. How the Mark was a sign at birth to guide you over time to the one who belonged to you.</p><p>“So where’s my Mark?”</p><p>Dean could only look down at his feet in silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys haven't realized who my favorite character is, I don't know what to say.  
> I've been writing this nonstop, and I'm almost done with it, just trying to get everything chronologically in order.  
> This is actually written in a different style than most of my work, so sorry if some of you follow and are familiar with my work, I was trying something different.  
> This fic is going to go through the seasons, and starts off with season 1 with some canon pre-series mishaps, but just letting you know that there is a lot of time skip within this fic.
> 
> I changed the ratings for future reference and added some tags!
> 
> Thank you for those who read this, and I especially thank those who have been following me as an amateur writer.  
> (I should be writing my other fics... but school, and stress, and life.)  
> Anyways, enjoy!

Being raised a Winchester, you knew the risks of having any sort of romance outside of hunting. Not only was it dangerous, but it was also impractical—I mean, why in the world would you drag an innocent from their poor excuse of a “trouble-free” world into a perpetual nightmare filled with demons, gods and everything that goes bump in the night?

Knowing this helped you realize, that maybe you weren’t cut out for any romance at all.

With the illegible mark on your ribcage, looking more like a smudged compilation of symbols, you were slowly becoming at peace with the thought that maybe, just maybe, that your soulmate was either dead or not out there, and honestly it made you feel better about the constant emptiness in your heart.

You might not have been born a Winchester, but you saw what it did to those who lost their mates.

John Winchester, during one of his hunts chasing after the Yellow-Eyed Demon, found you in your crib amidst a burning home, exactly six months after the day you were born. You later ask him. _“Why me? Why did you choose to keep me?”_ John later tells you that your parents died in a mysterious fire like the one that killed his wife and soulmate. That you reminded him of Sammy because he was exactly six months old that night, too.

Still, every night he would apologize for not making it on time, the fire leaving a good bit of your skin marred and slightly disfigured. But, you would always just shake your head and put your arms around him lovingly, in the darkness and silence of the motel room. You would wait patiently as he wept quietly in your arms.

You knew, in the deepest part of your mind, that every time he looked at you, you reminded him of his failures to keep his mate safe.

You knew your life was not “normal” by any means. You jumped from hotel to hotel, your oldest brother, Dean, fed and clothed you, even going so far as to stealing in order to take care of both you and Sammy.

Over the years, Sam would be the one to tutor you, seeing as how he was only 4 years older than you were, and he was more familiar with the curriculum than Dean was.

Dean didn’t find academia as important as hunting.

Night after night, you would watch your foster father troll in and out of the rooms with his scary looking gun hidden underneath his leather jacket, keys to the Impala in his hand. Sometimes he would avoid your questions when you ask him where he was going. Sometimes he would walk in smelling like perfume and adult drinks that Dean says are not good for you.

The man you called Father tried his hardest to make you lead as normal of a life as you could without directly dragging you into the life of hunting. It was about the time that you were around 7 years old that your Father grew tired of your questions and taught you the ways of the trade.

 _“The family business,”_ he would say.

From that point on, you learned that no more questions would be tolerated by John Winchester’s little soldier.

Except at night. Occasionally.

You noticed it before, and you always hated the smudge under your breast. You were 9 when you asked,

_“Daddy, why do I have a mark like this?”_

Showing him, his eyes would cloud over with guilt.

_“Is it like yours and De's and Sammy's? Does it mean anything?”_

John would shoot up in anger and annoyance, telling you to stop asking so many god damn questions and to go practice field stripping your weapon.

You would go to your station in silent tears while he would storm over to the mini fridge or the nearest bar. It’s later when Dean explains to you everything.

With downturn eyes, he explained how his mom was killed by the Yellow-Eyed Demon and that’s why his mark is greyed out.

_“But what exactly is the Mark, De?”_

He would then tell you how it was the Universe granting humans the knowledge and gift of love and prosperity. _To know what it feels to belong._ How the Mark was a sign at birth to guide you over time to the one who belonged to you.

_“So where’s my Mark?”_

Dean could only look down at his feet in silence.

The night that Sam left for Stanford, you were quiet. In a sense, you knew that it was inevitable.

Sammy was the smartest of you three, followed by Dean, and then you.

You always thought that you were the least intelligent of your siblings by far.

The younger brother was always curious, thirsty for knowledge. He was also always searching for his soul mate wherever your Father took you.

The mark on his inner bicep named _Jessica Lee Moore._

That night, you stood frozen in the corner, torn between your loyalties. You understood Dean and your Father, but you supported Sam’s decision.

With a timid nod, he understood your silence.

_“Good luck, Sammy. I hope you find her.”_

But, what else could you have said? you would ask yourself. You knew that you weren’t his real family.

So you did the only thing that you could do. You turned away from the look in his eyes, the pity, and walked away, going over to sitover quiet and still on the lumpy couch. Staring at the Blank TV, you blinked away the tears as you heard the door slam shut.

At least Sammy had something to look forward to.

_“Unlike yourself, (Y/N).”_

Unable to cope with your feelings, you threw yourself head first into hunting, and every night, you would look into the mirror and trace the smudge on your ribcage, then drag your finger along the pink, wrinkled tissue across your body, snorting at your reflection.

Your non-existent soulmate is lucky to not have someone like you.

 _“Damaged goods,”_ you called yourself.

Over time, Dean began to notice the change.

You stopped smiling and laughing. You would listen to your Father’s orders without complaints.

The _real (Y/N)_ would _never_ do that.

You stopped talking as much, becoming nothing but a cold copy of who you used to be.

It never went unnoticed to him that you weren’t eating as much, and he knew. He just _knew_ that you were shitting on yourself day in and day out, because that's exactly what he would do to himself, too.

But that didn’t mean that he didn’t miss your old self.

You were always bubbly and always joking around. You were sweet and considerate and just generally a loving, little sister.

Once in a while, he would notice how you would stare blankly at the name written across his collar bone.

_Lisa Braeden._

He would try his hardest to keep it covered, but staying in a tiny motel together nearly 99% of your time together, it gets kind of hard to hide.

The biggest kicked is that he knew that you knew that he had met his soul mate, back in 1999 when he dumped you at the hotel with 50 bucks for the whole weekend.

 _"Camping,"_ he said.

But knowing him, you knew that he dipped out of her tent, literally and figuratively, at an opportune moment before questions were asked.

_“I don’t do parents. Or commitment, you know that.”_

Sometimes after you would see his Mark, he would watch as you looked down at your ribs, scratching at yours absentmindedly with the tip of your nails.

It never escaped Dean’s attention that there would sometimes be bandages across your ribs from all the scratching, even though you would pull it off as another hunting injury.

It was the night that Dean packed you into the Impala to head for Stanford that you felt the awful feeling in your gut. Your body felt like it was burning and voices screeched in your head, penetrating your dreams.

For the first time in three years, you saw Sam again, and for a moment it felt like things were going to be good again, until they weren’t.

Sam avoided you as much as possible, and when he mentioned his interview, your hopes of becoming like before quickly withered away.

For a moment, your insecurities came back, rearing its ugly head again.

_“You will never be one of them.”_

You knew why your brother was acting the way that he was. He had a future, he met his soulmate, and you had to come along and drag him back into the very thing he was running from.

_"Unlike you, (Y/N). No future, no soulmate. Just hunting."_

It was the night of _their_ mother’s 22 nd anniversary that you dropped him back off at Stanford, expecting to never see him again.

_“After all, we never found Dad, so why would we bother him?”_

Moments after driving away, you couldn’t help the scream that bubbled out from your throat. You felt the pain, the flames melting the flesh off of your bones. Only then did Dean understand. Sam was in danger.

That night, the smell of sulfur and burnt flesh thick in the air, Sam was left with a clenched jaw and a hardened heart, and for the second time in your life, you were glad that you had no real mark.

Dean never asked you what _really_ happened in the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, end of chapter 1.  
> I hope you guys enjoyed that, I am finished with the second chapter, working through the errors and some other stuff.  
> If you guys enjoyed it, Comments and Kudos are most welcome!  
> If you guys did not enjoy it, well I don't know what to say, but Kudos are still appreciated for those who are still trying to pick up back onto their feet in the world of writing. (:  
> Anyways, I appreciate your times and attention, catch you later!  
> Peace out, bitches!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the first few hunts, you realized that Dad was sending you and the boys on a wild goose chase.
> 
> Dad would ignore your calls, no matter the situation. Even when Dean was dying and both you and Sam were trying to find every possible solution to save him. But still, he ignored your calls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2, yay.   
> I'm so impatient, and I'm already up to chapter 5...ish?  
> I had this done, so I wanted to share with you--which, I'm going to have to wait patiently until the next time I can post again!  
> Anyways, thanks for all the kudos from the first chapter, it makes my heart go ba-dump.  
> Those of you who liked chapter 1, I hope I don't disappoint with chapter 2!

After the first few hunts, you realized that Dad was sending you and the boys on a wild goose chase.

Dad would ignore your calls, no matter the situation. Even when Dean was dying and both you and Sam were trying to find every possible solution to save him. But still, he ignored your calls.

A hunt brought you to the town of Lawrence, Kansas, to the house where you learn was where your brothers grew up. A myriad of poltergeist was haunting its grounds. Protecting her sons, you saw the ghost of Mary in an aura of fire and power.

She was as beautiful as both John and Dean said she was. She looked at you with a smile on her face, but to you, she was just a stranger.

You couldn't return the smile. Especially after seeing the looks on the boys' faces.

It was a constant cycle. Trying to find Dad, having to deal with... whatever the hell it was that you were dealing with.

And Sam's nightmares.

Every night you and Sam would wake up at the same exact moment, sweaty hair sticking to your foreheads.

You would avoid the looks on your brother' faces, rushing into the bathroom.

Every night you would trace your hand over your Mark and pray to whatever power in the universe, that you could find solace in your nonexistent soul mate.

It was one particular nightmare that had both you and your brothers leaving the motel, bleary eyed and exhausted to Michigan where you met Max Miller.

He was the first case that the boys had encountered with someone who had abilities like Sam, something you still didn't know about. Dean and Sam would talk in hushed tones about it while you would sleep in whatever hotel you were in.

You've never felt such anger and hatred coming from the boy. You were never conscious when Sam and Dean witnessed his powers, but you felt the pain before the silence of Max's emotions, right before he pulled the trigger.

The three of you never speak of that moment again.

Hunt after hunt after hunt, you three were still nowhere closer to finding him than when you were starting.

Until you did.

Sam’s little demon girlfriend, Meg, tricked you into luring your Father out into the open, and once the four of you got away, you got hit. Hard.

You shouldn’t have expected anything different, but lo and behold, you did.

The moment that you thought that your Father was going to be with you again, your hopes and dreams were crushed by 40 tons of steel and fiberglass, coupled with a demon-possessed truck driver.

You felt every crunch and snap of metal and bone, as well as every tear and pull of muscle and skin as the Impala was t-boned at 70 miles per hour.

Still, with no explanation, you were awake and unmoving, eyes flickering back and forth between the two in the front and the one beside you.

_“Why didn’t I just die?”_

You were wide-eyed and still in shock as the EMTs pulled you, your Father and your brothers onto a gurney. In record time you were in the hospital being sedated for surgery.

_“At least I can protect those whose lives are worth more.”_

John and Sam were both relieved that you were okay, but it was Dean that they were actually worried about.

You were bed-ridden in the same room as your brother. Your whole right side pretty much in a state of brokenness; your collarbone and arm were fractured, hoisted up in an ugly cast. Three of your ribs were broken and reset, as well as your femur.

You were all sorts of messed up but you could hardly do anything but lay there silently and watch your brother and your Father go crazy about Dean.

_“He’s in a coma, Y/N... Th-They think he’s not going to make it.”_

That’s all he had to say about that.

You laid there quietly, watching the Winchester’s dote on their own.

_Blink_. You turn your face away.

Pretending to be asleep, you hear Sammy and Dad arguing again—something about revenge and the demon.

You kept your mouth shut. It wasn’t your battle. You had history with the Yellow-Eyed Demon, but this was John’s fight. His crusade is against the love of his life of more than 10 years, not for the parents you knew for only 6 months.

Hours later, Dean is fully awake and healed, and John Winchester collapses in his place.

_“Heart attack… complications of his injury,”_ the Doctors tell you.

You knew better. You never asked questions, so you turned your head and hid your tears into the pillow beneath you in response.

Later that night, Dean and Sam break you out of the hospital. Jaws clenched, white knuckled, the three of you somehow make the drive down to Sioux Falls, Impala in tow.

You don't remember giving your Father a hunter’s funeral.

The Salvage Yard, towered with junkers and parts, still looked the same as when you were younger, being dropped off whenever John would go off on a hunt.

Dean parked the stolen truck out in front of the house of Bobby Singer, your surrogate Father-Uncle. Sammy quickly climbed out of the car, turning to pull you out bridal style. You hunched inwards, ignoring the pain.

Rumsfeld trotted up, panting at Sam’s feet, his ears perking up at the sound of the front porch opening.

Bobby takes one look at you three and nods solemnly.

_“John,"_ he sighed _. "Y' idjit.”_

He gathers you in his arms as Sam climbs the stairs towards the door. Instantly, he nuzzles his cheek at your temple, carrying you inside, over to his lumpy, red couch. Rumsfeld follows after, laying his head next to your lap on the empty spot available.

“Git, Rumsfeld,” Bobby whispers. You shake your head, placing a hand on top of the mutt’s head.

“Aw, crap. John might have been a jackass, but he was still as much as your daddy as much as he was the boys’. Y’ hear? He did his best trying to do right by the three of ya.” He gets up, kisses your forehead and covers you with an afghan lying around. He then walks out towards the kitchen, probably to get a drink or five.

He probably needed it.

The boys didn’t reappear until later, but by the looks on their faces, you understood. You would be on bedrest (in other words, research duty) when the boys were ready to go back out hunting.

You looked between your brothers and turned your head to stare out the window. You didn’t see the looks exchanged between them.

Over the next week, you would sleep, read and eat on the couch, only getting up for the restroom or a shower. You kept quiet, unresponsive to your brothers, and every once in a while, you could hear hushed voices.

Sometimes they were angry, sometimes they were filled with concern.

You could feel the tones of the conversations in your body.

You were laying on the couch, reading a book on Angels and Demons when you see movement in your peripheral.

“Hey, Squirt. How are you feeling?” He asked in a hush voice.

You shrug in response, turning back to your book. Your big brother shuffles over to you, sitting on the edge of the couch. Softly placing a hand on the page, he took the opportunity to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“You know that we love you, right Baby Girl?”

“I know we never really said it, and I know that just because you aren’t related to Sammy and I by blood… you’re still our baby sister. We’ve been doing a crap job at being there for you, especially this week, and for that we’re sorry. Really.

“Just because you’re hurting, it doesn’t mean you have to hide anything from us. Alright?”

You nodded slowly, avoiding his eyes, scratching subconsciously at your cast-clad collarbone.

“Okay,” he sighed.

“I’m going to go outside and work on the Impala, okay Baby? If you need anything, let Sam or Bobby know. Okay?”

You nod again, turning to look outside as you feel a firm kiss on your head.

You were alone. Again.

It was loud and your hands trembled. You could hear Sam and Dean arguing outside. About Dad. You felt tears prickle at your eyes, so you awkwardly reached up to wipe them away.

It was soon quiet again, minutes later, Sammy coming in looking for a beer. He was looking better, only left with nasty bruises and scratches.

Your skin itched at the… _something_ radiating from him. You couldn’t tell what, but it was bothering you none the less.

He looked at you once before scrubbing his face down and heading for the book shelf. Sam is dragging his finger sideways against the books’ bindings.

“Y/N. We have a lead. But—uh… you’re going to have to sit this one out.”

You looked at your brother, giving him a pinched smile. Even if they were leaving you alone with Bobby, it wasn’t as if you were any use to them anyways. You were crippled and you’d only be holding them back—especially if it involved the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

“Be safe,” you muttered.

Sam looks at you strange, shocked at hearing your voice again. In a moment’s notice, he’s taking 3 long strides across the room and hoisting you up into his lap.

You sigh contentedly, relishing in the feeling of your brother’s warmth and love. He keeps his lips on your temple, holding you as tight as possible without causing you pain.

You feel a twinge of guilt. You haven't been attentive to your brothers' pains and needs, instead catering to your lack of emotion.

He squeezes you once, a pained grunt escaping your lips, instantly releasing you and asks if you want your pain medication.

You shake your head no, wanting to keep warm in your brothers grasp.

It's the last real intimate moment you have with Sam before your brothers pack up and leave for somewhere in Nebraska.

Dean and Sam call you every day and night, just to let you keep tabs on their whereabouts and to remind you that they haven't forgotten about you. You barely resist huffing in amusement as you listen to them talk about Dad's old friend or something along those lines.

Sam would talk about the Rakshasa dressed like a killer clown, the Carnies, Ellen and Jo, and her mate Ash.

_"Surprised he could keep a soul mate with that whole Lynyrd Skynrd Roadie vibe. C'mon, a mullet. Really?"_

Looking down, you can just picture the cryptic mark that has long since been seared into your memory.

_Scratch_.

Dean would tell you to not worry about them and how Ash, no matter how screwy he is, is a genius. And that they're getting closer to the Demon--that Dad's death would not be for nothing.

_"We miss you, Sweetheart. Don't worry, we'll be back soon, alright?"_ He would tell you every night.

It was like that for many hunts. Your brothers and Bobby specifically ordered you to stay on your ass for 4 months. Other than to go to shower and use the bathroom, the man practically shoved food on a tray in your lap, commanding you to eat every last drop.

You always secretly fed Rumsfeld your leftovers.

Honestly, it was sweet, yet still a bit annoying.

They we're being ridiculous, and you made your protests by getting up and doing your physical therapy exercises on your own. It was the least you could do by and for yourself besides research. Hunting was a huge no, even though you were healing at a faster rate than other people would.

Regardless, there was only so much reading you could do without getting restless and the biggest case of cabin fever. Even watching Spanish soaps with Bobby were getting dull (not to mention, you were slowly increasing in fluency.)

The day your brothers came back from the Rakshasa hunt, you could feel the tension between them. Sam was quiet, shaking himself off as he paced back and forth.

Dean came in for a second, pressing a kiss on your forehead, muttering something about going to work on the Impala, before he walks out into the salvage yard.

Sam pushes you up on the couch a bit, sitting behind you and pulling you to lean you back into his shoulder. He keeps an arm wrapped loosely around you, sighing deeply into your hair.

"You doing alright, Y/N?"

You turn your neck slightly, smiling up at him.

"I've been better..."

All the radio silence in the house the past few days, Bobby had eventually gotten you to get out of your shell for a bit. You giggled at his sarcastic jokes, you had to stifle a hand in your mouth when some hunter named Garth called asking the simplest things. You began to start talking again, just barely.

"Whats wrong with De?" Sam shook his head in response, nuzzling you closer.

It really didn't help that both of your brothers, especially the younger one, towered over you, engulfing you with their height and overall size.

"Just... I don't know." He gives you a kiss on the back of your head before easing himself standing, picking you up and placing you back in your original position, longways across the couch, leg propped up.

"I'm going to go talk to him, okay?" You nod in response, watching him as he turns around, greeting Bobby as he walks out the back door.

Your Uncle comes in, wearing his "Kiss the Cook" apron, spatula in hand.

"Everything okay, Princess?" You smile up at him with a nod. He points the spatula back to the kitchen before continuing. "Chili's almost done if you're hungry." You look down at your stomach as it churns and growls, your mouth watering at the thought of Bobby's amazing chili con carne all-the-way stew with some...

"Did you make cornbread?" Bobby huffs in amusement, rolling his eyes in the process.

"Yes, of course Your Majesty."

As he turns around, you feel a heavy burden on your chest. Your tears prickle at the sadness and regret.

_"Oh, no. Not again."_

Moments later, you felt like you were being torn apart. Your hands trembled and your hand tightened in a grip, nails digging deep into the flesh of your palm.

The last thing you remember is screaming at the top of your lungs, sobbing, before your whole world turns black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, yet again ♥  
> I hope you enjoyed it, as this will be the last chapter for another few days--if I can be patient by then. :P  
> I just love posting and sharing with you guys my stories (;  
> Anyways, Kudos and Comments are much appreciated.  
> With much love,  
> Peace out, Bitchesss


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (:  
> yayy. happy hump day (I hate that phrase lol.)  
> But for those of you who need a little treat, I've been having a bad week lately, here's a little pickmeup.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Its been happening more and more lately, but the boys never really asked questions like you thought they would.

They went off on another hunt, calling you and telling you that they met another hunter named Gordon. Even through the phone, Dean sounded like he was a little obsessed.

Sam called separately, unloading all his worries and troubles about Dean and Gordon's new relationship.

Your stomach turned at the thought of Gordon.

The boys came and went, another hunt in Illinois, something about a zombie, but you were slowly feeling it again. The anger and annoyance--the jealousy and betrayal rolling off their shoulders in waves.

It was about a month and a half after the accident when the brothers went off on a hunt. They called, but... they didn't really... _talk_ about the hunt. In fact, they seemed to kind of avoid the subject.

A hunt is always weird, considering. But Dean never _really_ told you about Sam's nightmares, despite you knowing he had them. Although, you never knew what they we're actually about.

What they didn't know was that you we're having nightmares, too. Not so vivid in images, more like... dreams of cloudy darkness, being filled with emotions from every person within a 5 mile radius.

It was scaring you.

Four months, the doctors told you. Four months and your bones should have healed by then. So you went to a hospital before your first hunt back on your feet.

Your brothers took you to the hospital, making sure to use their best fake insurance to cover you for the X-ray and the cast removals.

You had lost a lot of weight over the months, lost in your thoughts and trying to block of all the emotions bombarding your mind. No matter how much Bobby tried to feed you, your sudden cases of vertigo and your headaches just got in the way of your appetite.

Doctor Kelley took it upon himself to let the brothers know that you'd lost even more weight since the accident, and that didn't include the loss of muscle.

You ignored their looks. You don’t need their pity.

There was a hunt in Oregon that caught the brothers' attentions for reasons unknown to you. That was the dynamic of your relationship lately, they seemed to be hiding things from you— _important_ things.

"Why are we here, Sammy?" You leaned over the bench seat in the Impala.

"Hey, sit your ass back down, Squirt!" Dean interjected.

Side eyeing Dean, Sam ignored him and replied, "Just a hunch."

You huffed, sitting back in your seat and crossing your arms over your chest. You kept your eyes looking out the window, trying your best to ignore Dean muttering something about,

_"Still on the mend..."_

_"Must be crazy..."_

Your stomach dropped a little at the thought running through your mind, your brothers were dodging your questions, and treating you like a child.

_"That's because you still are one, Y/N."_

You let that thought cycle over and over again the whole ride there.

Rivergrove, Oregon was like every other town you'd ever been in. Except, it wasn't.

_Croatoan_ was your only clue.

Sam talked about Roanoke, the Lost Colony and chastised Dean with his Schoolhouse Rock. In the end, they figured they needed some help, but the lines were dead.

There was no service.

Dean drove to the Tanner house, your skin was itching with the need to attack for reasons unknown, and the urge got stronger the closer you got to the house.

In a blur, the dad was shot, the boy escaped, and your brothers were dragging the woman, Beverly, to the car. Gravel and dirt shot out from under the tires as Dean sped to the closest hospital--a small, functional clinic.

A _virus_ , they called it. Demonic biological warfare, you heard Sam whisper to Dean when they thought you were in the other room. It spread by blood-to-blood contact. And you and the others were next in line for the slaughterhouse with one infectee conveniently placed in base, especially since the town was blocked off.

_Christ_ , it was like another Romero movie.

Every "survivor" was taking refuge at the clinic, and with Pam in lock down, you keep watch. When you hear the door lock and Sam struggling, you throw yourself at the door just in time to watch Sam get slashed, and her bloody palm mingling with his own.

You launch yourself at her, catching her by surprise as she slashes you with the same knife, her blood and all, before Dean guns her down.

It's the same scenario as always. Dean dotes on Sammy, checking over him and making sure that he's patched up before he spares you a glance.

You sit there in silence, tears brimming in your eyes as you listen to him yelling at you.

_"Why are you always so reckless!?"_

_"You know what? Don't answer that."_

_"You're lucky to not be in a body bag right now!"_

_"I should have just left you at Bobby's."_

Chewing your lower lip raw, you listen to Dean fighting tooth and nail for Sammy's life.

All that raw emotion was filling you and there was only one thought that you could fully comprehend.

Sammy is and will always be first.

You scoff at yourself mentally.

_"You knew this, Y/N. How could you forget?"_

You crawl over to the corner of the room, hunching inwards when your brothers' attention are on everyone deciding to leave.

You quietly wipe your tears into the pit of your elbow as you listen to the sentimental moment between Sam and Dean.

Only when Doctor Lee walks in to say that everyone has disappeared, and that with tests, the virus was without a trace, does Dean finally look at you.

_"Maybe this was the one that got away?" He asks Sam._

It never comes across your mind that you might've been immune, just like dear little Sammy.

The event is long since forgotten in the Winchester brothers' minds. But not from yours. Never yours.

Come March, a hunt becomes available. You watch Sam slowly fall in love with the victim, a girl named Madison.

Madison is a cute girl, petite and brunette with a dazzling smile. You understand why Sam would fall for a girl like her.

Unlike Sarah from the haunted Painting case in New York, Madison was one of the rare ones, born without a mark and more than content to not have one. Not when it _"keeps me tied down to someone who might not even be who I want."_

Madison understood Sam's situation. His mark was grey and lifeless, like his mate. She accepted him with open arms regardless.

Your heart ached at the sight. Maybe this was Sam's break.

Except when it's not, and the victim becomes the monster.

You literally feel the heartache and loss as Sam shoots her down, breathe knocked out of your lungs and the twisting of your heart from both Sam's pain and the bullet tearing through her heart.

You think to yourself, _"maybe mates are more pain than they are worth."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on the other chapters, but I hope you guys liked this chapter.  
> I'll post the next one soon!  
> Kudos and comments are much appreciatedddd. :D  
> thanks for reading, peace out bitches!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All those headaches? All those blackouts from the rush? You’re an empath, Y/N. Not as useful in war—”
> 
> Wait, what?
> 
> “War!?”
> 
> “But, there aren’t any empaths as strong as you. And Sammy? He’s going to be my Leader—the one that will lead my army…
> 
> “But, you? You’ll be his right hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, another chapter!  
> I was jonesing to post another one, but AO3 is bad at mobile posting, so I had to wait until I got to the hotel. :P  
> I might just post another one for you guys, we'll have to see!  
> This chapter was kind of hard to do, but y'know... plot, plot, plot!  
> Anyways, enjoy!

Your nightmares get worse over the months.

It's the end of April when Dean parks the Impala outside an all-night diner. You rush in to use the restroom while Sam orders food for the trip, and as soon as you cross the threshold to the bathroom, your world goes black.

You wake up in an abandoned building. Dust and cobwebs cover every corner of the room, broken furniture still in their original place. You shiver in the damp cold of this strange place.

You try to remember where you last were...

"The diner... Dean? Sam!?"

Pushing yourself up, you stumble a little from the ache in the back of your neck.

A concussion.

A high-pitched scream is heard outside, echoing in the silence of your settings. It sounded like a girl, so with all of your strength, you stumbled out as fast as you could towards the source.

You see Sammy with two other people—people who he seems to be rather familiar with. He turns in your direction and his eyes go wide.

Sam sprints over to you, hoisting you up in his arms. He places you down and frames your shoulders with his arms, frantically checking you over.

"Y/N, why are you here? Are you hurt? What happened?" He ran his hands over your face, his fingers through your hair, and for a moment, just a single moment, you revelled in his affections.

You tell him that you don't remember, and that you woke up here, in some strange building.

He sighs in relief.

In minutes, strangers come and find the four of you, and everything is explained to you right then and there.

Everything that Sam had been hiding from you with Dean gets revealed.

Everyone had abilities. Everyone was 23, and as Sam side eyed you, he explained that the Yellow Eyed Demon was responsible.

Your body felt heavy with the guilt in his heart, the confusion in everyone else, but the misery and distress in Lily tips you over.

She accidently killed her mate.

You clench your chest in silent protest.

You knew from his feelings, that he knew that you knew that he knew he was caught. All the lying, deceit, and now all his dirty laundry was being flapped out in the air, but the look he gives you moments after stops you dead in your tracks.

"Wait, Y/N... I know why we are here, but... why are you here?" His face screws up confusion, eyebrows pinched.

You step back at his accusatory tone, unprepared to answer when one of the other persons, Jake, throws his hands up in the air and walks away.

Sam gives you a look that says, _"I'm not finished with you yet,"_ before running after the soldier.

An Acheri comes, heading straight for Jake, Sam finds an iron poker and slashes right through her, dissipating into a thin wisp of smoke.

Sam decides then that spreading out to find some salt and iron was the best move.

You gather your findings and realize that one member is missing.

Lily is dead.

Nightfall comes and your eyes grow weary. Sam helps situate you in the corner of your "base," covering you with his jacket and kissing your temple as he pushes hair behind your ear.

"Get some shut eye, okay? I'll wake you up if anything comes up."

He leaves to go gather iron with Jake, and you slowly fall into a deep sleep.

As you open your eyes, you find Yellow Eyes staring straight back right into your own E/C ones. You flinch back, trying to brace yourself and find a weapon of any kind.

"Relax, kid. I'm not here to kill you."

"Sam!? Sammy!" You quietly try to call out, your voice shaking and weak.

You stumble backwards, reaching behind for stability, all while keeping the Yellow-Eyed Demon in your sight.

He chuckles, grin wide like the Cheshire. He's amused at your attempt like he knows something.

"You're dreaming. Can't call for little Sammy's help here, now can you?"

"What do you want?" He tsks at you all while stepping closer.

"I'm here to answer your questions, of course. After all, you're probably asking yourself why you're here with the others, right? Sadly, you've arrived a tad bit earlier than I anticipated." He hums to himself.

Another step forward.

Another step back.

"Demons. Just can't trust them nowadays, now can I?"

You felt your legs begin to tremble. Every emotion you've ever felt in its entirety was more than what you were willing to take, compared to the emptiness and void you sense from the Demon.

“What… what do you mean? If you were going to kill me later, why not just do it now?” Yellow Eyes lets out a full-body laugh, holding his sides and wiping at his eyes.

You can’t see what he finds so amusing.

“Ah, slick. Believe it or not, I don’t want you dead.”

_What?_

“If anything, just like dear ol’ Sammy, I want you to survive.” You give him an incredulous look.

“ _Survive?_ Survive _what?_ ” The Demon looks at you with curiosity, and if you didn’t know any better, a bit of shock.

“Sammy hasn’t told you anything, now has he?” He hums to himself again, wrapping an arm around his middle and propping up his other arm, finger tapping his chin in thought.

“Interesting…” You bristle at his scrutiny, wanting to get this over with as fast and clean as possible. You had nothing to live for, so why was he keeping you alive?

"Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe, _just maybe_ , I'm not the bad guy?"

He huffs at your silence.

“I guess not. After all, I _am_ a demon. You see, Y/N? You are one of my, hmm... _Special Children,_ if you will _._ Born and bred only to live off of the tail-end of a curse, courtesy of a deal, of course.  More specifically—your parents'. _They_ made the deal.

“Your mother… she was sick, dying really, bad enough that she couldn’t bear the thought of having any children, so she made a deal. For a baby—you.

But only one deal is allowed, so Daddy dearest made a deal to cure your mother of her illness.

“I only asked for one night… I warned them. _Honest._ It was _their_ fault that they walked into your nursery that night, but I still got what I came for.”

Your tongue felt like sandpaper and the spit going down your throat felt like molasses. You always figured there was something _odd_ about your upbringing, but you never questioned it. Now you wondered _what exactly_ Dean and Sam had been keeping from you.

“What does that mean?” Yellow-Eyes purses his lips in impatience, tutting at you.

“Y/N, you must be dense.

“It means that you got grade A Demon blood in you, sweetcheeks! Straight from the source, too!”

_“Me._ Your eyes widen, you shake your head vigourously. Your stomach churned and you thought you were going to be sick. There was no way in Hell that you had Demon blood in your system.

“All those headaches? All those blackouts from the rush? You’re an _empath_ , Y/N. Not as useful in war—”

_Wait, what?_

_“War!?”_

“But, there aren’t any empaths as strong as you. And Sammy? He’s going to be my Leader—the one that will lead my army…

“But, _you?_ You’ll be his right hand.

“Honestly, you’re part of a different generation of soldiers, but let’s just say that we had a little bit of a mix-up, shall we?”

You can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water and everything feels numb.

“What’s so special about me that you had to tell me all of this?” You hiss at him.

Yellow Eyes smirks at you, taking yet another step closer to you. You’ve been backed up against the wall with no place to run. He leans forward and looks you straight in the eyes.

“With me, once you learned how to control your powers, you’ll be able to use it against others. You can control other people’s _powers_ , Y/N. You will be _beyond powerful_ , and partnered with Sammy, the Underworld will know no bounds.

"If only you could understand your _worth_ , Y/N. The things you could do? You won't have to worry about having Dean-o protecting you all the time. You can be your own person… You will finally _belong_ somewhere."

You looked into the Demon's eyes, contemplating his words.

You understood what he was implying.

You will never be a Winchester--not really at least.

"It's now or never, Y/N. I'll let you decide."

With a snap of his fingers, you awake from your dream. Your head was cradled on Sam's chest, your arm thrown over his torso with both of his arms wrapped around you. He was gently shaking you into consciousness.

"You were tossing in your sleep." You look up into his concerned hazel eyes as he pushes stray hairs out of your face. "Bad dream?" He asks quietly.

You were beginning to get whiplash from your brothers' attitude towards you. One day you aren't relevant, and another day you're the center of their attention.

Hesitantly, you shook your head, unsure of whether or not to tell him about your dream. But, judging from the bags under his eyes, he was just barely getting to sleep.

"What time is it? Were you sleeping?" You ask him in a hushed voice. In your periphery you can see everyone else trying to sleep.

He smirks in the way that he usually does when he's bending the truth, huffing out in amusement.

"It’s late. And, nah, I just got comfortable." He leans his head down to plant a kiss on your forehead.

"Just go back to sleep, okay?" You nod in response, snuggling closer for his body warmth. In no time, your eyes are shutting again into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? Kudos and Comments are much appreciated!  
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, as much as I did, and that I haven't disappointed those of you who have been reading from the jump!  
> I want to thank those who gave me Kudos and comments! It really makes me happy to know that you guys appreciate and enjoy my work!  
> Anyways, next chapter might be up tonight or tomorrow!  
> Peace out, bitches <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm heading out. Stay for all I care," he grumbles. But it was a command nonetheless--just like Dad. You sit, still frozen in your spot.
> 
> An hour or so later, you sense a rush of emotions in the room and it shatters the deafening silence into a million pieces.
> 
> He's alive.
> 
> That moment, you realized what happened...
> 
> Dean made a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, new chapter.  
> For those who have not caught up, I posted Chapter 4 last night, and I will be posting another chapter following this chapter!  
> Yayyyy.  
> Thank you for all the Kudos and Comments, they really do make me happy and inspire me to write more.  
> Anyways, enjoy!

Both you and Sam wake up, Jake frantically rushing into the room.

"Sam, wake up! Ava's missing."

The both of you are up and alert just the way that your Father taught you both. You wince at the feel of sharp  claws dragging across your body, but you ignore them.

You a hear a scream, the three of you turn and run towards the source. You gasp at the body on the floor.

"Andy..." you grieved. Andy was a sweetheart for the short amount of time you knew him. He was adorable and funny at the worst of times, but you found yourself growing a soft spot for him.

You realized that the Yellow-Eyed Demon was telling the truth. Your powers we're getting stronger.

Ava's face changes from fear and remorse, her cries tapering off to a twisted excuse of the kind human you thought she was. You figured she knew how to control her feelings that inhibited you from using yours.

As she tries to summon the Acheri, Jake appears from behind her and snaps her neck.

Sam offers up a proverbial white flag in order to collaborate and kill the Demon together. Jake refuses.

You can't think straight from the knock of Jake's super strength fist into his jaw. Your breath gets knocked from your lungs as you watch your brother fly out the window.

You watch from your spot, frozen, as your brother and the demon-blood powered superhuman fight. You hear the sickening crack of Sam's arm and shoulder, and as Sam finds the strength to knock Jake down, you watch with your breath held as your brother contemplates taking another person's life.

Suddenly, you hear Dean scream his name, and for a moment, Sam is distracted. Long enough for Jake to recover from the ground and pick up the knife.

Your feet work on their own volition, and you pick up speed.

"Sammy!" You scream, trying your hardest to make it in time. You're too late, as you feel what your brother feels.

You gasp as you stop mid stride. You can feel the twist of the knife tearing through muscle and flesh.

You crumble to your knees as you feel the coldness overcome you.

"No..."

Tears run down your face as you stay in your position, blankly watching as Jake runs away.

Dean's pleas warble in your ears, going unanswered. You hear his screams, you hear his pain deep in your chest and then everything goes black.

You're awake by the time Dean and Bobby move Sam's body to a dusty bed on the reserve. You curl up with you knees to your chest, eyes barely peeking over your arms as you watch the way Dean preserves his baby brother.

The tears haven't stopped running down your cheeks. You can't feel him anymore. His emotions are empty--black and void. The only thing you can feel is the roaring self-hatred and self-deprication coming from the eldest.

You keep your eyes on Sammy as you try your best to ignore Dean pushing Bobby away again. When Bobby leaves, Dean slumps into his chair.

You listen to his stories, you vaguely remember the days in which Dean mentions as he talks into the silence. He talks about his responsibilities and how he failed.

"What am I supposed to do!?" He asks himself. You watch, startled when Dean's eyes turn to you with such disdain.

"Why didn't you do anything about it?" Your heart breaks at the anger and hatred seeping through his teeth.

"Just sit there, then. Not like you're not used to that already." he spits at your silence. He shoots up from his seat, jacket and keys in hand.

"I'm heading out. Stay for all I care," he grumbles. But it was a command nonetheless--just like Dad. You sit, still frozen in your spot.

An hour or so later, you sense a rush of emotions in the room and it shatters the deafening silence into a million pieces.

He's alive.

That moment, you realized what happened...

Dean made a deal.

As a tear falls down your cheek, you wonder in the back of your mind if he would have made the same deal if it were you in Sam's spot.

_Probably not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed it, I'm glad, if you didn't, well I'm sorry to disappoint.  
> I will be posting a chapter immediately after this, so don't go anywhere!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ghost of John Winchester is protecting his son, giving Dean an opportunity to pick up the Colt and then pull the trigger.
> 
> The Demon goes down without a sound.
> 
> The Winchester's share a moment, you realize. John looks at Sam and Dean, hand on his eldest son's shoulder, a proud look on his face.
> 
> You feel your eyes tear up, and you reach your hand outwards, legs and jaw still unmoving.
> 
> "Daddy," you call out, although it comes out more like a whispered croak than a plea.
> 
> He doesn't hear you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're just reading, I have just posted chapter 5, so read that first!  
> This will be the last chapter for a few days, I hope you enjoy!

The three of you head back to Bobby's. A word has yet to leave your lips, and Sammy keeps looking back at you like he's trying to figure you out. You avoid looking anywhere near Dean.

 _"It was your fault, (Y/N)"_ that little voice says in your head.

You overhear the words exchanged between Dean and Bobby.

 _One year_ , he says. His soul is being collected in a year, and it's all because you couldn't save Sam, so Dean's stupid martyr complex dictates that he has to.

Ellen appears from behind a mountain of junk cars, alive and well with survivor's guilt. It turns out that the Roadhouse was burned down by demons, but you felt nothing.

She looked at you from across the table after she took her shot of holy water. Confusion laced her face, but you turned away and walked out, listening from the other side of the wall.

She was just a stranger to you, anyways.

According to Ellen, Ash left a map in their vault--a map of a 100-square mile Devil's Trap.

Once you arrive, the Devil's Gate gets unlocked aided by the influence of Jake's powers.

You watch wide-eyed as Sam shoots him over and over again in cold blood.

The moment of distraction is enough for the Colt to completely unlock the door, and as you take cover, dozens of demons escape from the clutches of Hell, clouds of black smoke making for their escape.

You can faintly hear the grind and scraping of metal in the distance under the roaring of the hoard.

The Devil's Trap has been breached.

You watch the brawl between the Demon and Dean, still frozen in your squatting position. You can't find it in yourself to do anything but spectate along the sidelines, ducking and flinching at every stray demon and ghost.

 _"A piss poor example of a hunter"_ runs through your mind.

Your eyes grow wide, the Demon is aiming the gun at Dean still on the ground.

A stray ghost comes from behind and wrestles the son of a bitch.

The ghost of John Winchester is protecting his son, giving Dean an opportunity to pick up the Colt and then pull the trigger.

The Demon goes down without a sound.

The Winchester's share a moment, you realize. John looks at Sam and Dean, hand on his eldest son's shoulder, a proud look on his face.

You feel your eyes tear up, and you reach your hand outwards, legs and jaw still unmoving.

"Daddy," you call out, although it comes out more like a whispered croak than a plea.

He doesn't hear you.

You watch as the ghost of John Winchester dissipates into the air, leaving a dumbfounded pair of siblings, and in your heart, you wish that he could've taken you with him into the afterlife.

The door is closed, the demons are unleashed and the Demons are dead. You realize that the brother's have just finished their mission, their crusade passed down from their father. You had finished nothing.

You knew you were just losing your brothers over time, especially now that there is nothing binding you to the Winchester's.

Not John, not the Demon.

Now, you had nothing.

You listen to Sam and Dean talking about it, finally succeeding and avenging their mother and their father's death. You can't share their sentiment. You never knew your parents and you grew up under John Winchester and his desire to get revenge for his mate.

It was never about you or your parents.

You silently follow the boys back to the car, Sam finally asks the million dollar question.

"Did I die? Did you sell your soul for me, like Dad did for you?"

Dean finally admits that he has a year to live, the moment disrupted with Ellen and Bobby's approach.

"Well... Yellow-Eyed Demon might be dead. But a lot more got through that gate." Ellen eyes flicker between you and your brothers--no, not your brothers, you've concluded.

Not anymore.

"How many you think?" Dean asks.

Sam shuffles a little, looking to Dean. "Hundred. Maybe two hundred. It's an army. He's unleashed an army."

"Hope to hell you boys are ready. 'Cause the war has just begun," Bobby adjusts his cap.

"Well, then," Dean smiles. He goes to the trunk, Sam in tow. He throws the Colt in and slams the door shut.

"We got work to do."

You quietly ask Bobby and Ellen for a ride back to the house, wanting to stay away from Sam and Dean. After all, they had celebrating to do.

You climb into Bobby's truck, head low as you start to plan.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, Princess?" He turns to look at you in concern. You peek up at him, pleading with your eyes.

"Do you think you can fix me up a car?" He reluctantly nods his head, sighing heavily.

He knew this day was going to come sooner or later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am using the Wiki page for Supernatural Timelines, and I am referencing a lot of quotes and situations via Timelines and Transcripts.  
> I hope you guys like this chapter. It kind of tickled me a little in the feels as well as the other one, but regardless.  
> I write this for myself and for you guys, so thanks for those who have been following me!  
> Kudos and Comments are much appreciated! Thank you, again!  
> Peace out, bitches.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You haven't said a word since that day, and the boys were noticing. You've stopped eating what they gave you; they asked you things, and you would ignore their questions, shoving ear buds into your ear and letting whatever music plays off your phone flow through you.
> 
> It's the only kind of emotion you're willing to deal with right now.
> 
> You've let go of your inhibitions.
> 
> The Yellow Eyed Demon was right, you can control your powers.
> 
> Regardless, you don't need them, just like they don't need you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3  
> I gift for all my bebes out there.  
> I already have 159 Kudos, and it just makes me so happy and giddy inside, however I'm going to have to elongate my update times, I'm just completely exhausted lately. >

The first hunt after the death of Yellow Eyes, you follow the brother's on a hunt in Nebraska. Dean indulges in his hedonistic desires as Sam gathers intel. You busy yourself with research, familiarizing yourself with the supernatural as much as possible. You kept quiet and focused on the words on the pages.

You haven't said a word since that day, and the boys were noticing. You've stopped eating what they gave you; they asked you things, and you would ignore their questions, shoving ear buds into your ear and letting whatever music plays off your phone flow through you.

It's the only kind of emotion you're willing to deal with right now.

You've let go of your inhibitions.

The Yellow Eyed Demon was right, you can control your powers.

Regardless, you don't need them, just like they don't need you.

You block out their annoyance and their concern. Their pity and their attempts at sympathetic looks and moments only fuel your desire to mute everything.

You don't need it. Any of it.

The Seven Deadly Sins were wreaking havoc, and a hunter couple come to help. Tamara and Isaac look at the three of you with such hate.

They blame you for the demons, rightfully so.

The couple attempt to ambush one of the Demons in a bar, but little do they know that the bar was ground zero for the sect.

A demon influences Isaac to drink drain cleaner, and Tamara watches her soul mate die.

You and the brothers crash in with the Impala, holy water at the ready, as you shove a demon into the trunk and rescue Tamara.

You can feel the pulsing of her pain and her loss through the wall you've created yourself. You shut yourself out even more; you don't need it.

The Sins come and try to rescue their own, an attempt to killing the infamous Winchesters, and a mysterious woman intervenes, wielding a strange knife that could kill demons.

She's gone in a flash, and you never get her name.

Bobby exorcizes who he can save, burying those he can't. Isaac receives a hunter's funeral and Tamara walks away with a blank expression.

In the morning, she's gone and Sam tries to convince Dean to go to a hoodoo priestess, to seek help.

Dean refuses, and for the first time he truthfully tells Sam that he is happy.

A few days later, you three head to Indiana.

Now that Dean has a timer on his clock, he wants to make amends along with the hunt that brought you there.

You meet Lisa Braeden, Dean's soulmate. Your nails automatically dig into your ribs as you watch the exchange between the two.

You plaster on a fake smile and endure through the introductions.

 _"Broken. Damaged."_ Its a constant mantra, but you block it out.

You don't need it.

You don't need another reminder of your failures and of everything you've lost. Or everything that you've never had.

Changelings. They replace children in the home and kill the father's so that they can feed on the mothers in peace.

You find the changelings' real mother and destroy her nest, returning the other children to their homes--including Lisa's son, Ben.

Dean declines her invitation to stay but your nails dig a little deeper.

The Impala parks outside of Bobby's house and you look at it longingly for one last time. Inside, you had what little things you owned in a duffle bag, not unlike the one next to you.

Behind the corner of the house, you see the tail end of a cherry red '61 Chevelle waiting with your name on it.

Your getaway ride when the boys least suspect it.

You'd have to thank Bobby with a good handle of Whiskey, or ten.

When you finally have a moment alone with Bobby, Sam is napping and Dean is washing Baby, he hands you the keys and you shove it into the inner pocket of your jacket.

"Fake IDs are in the glove compartment, and there's an arsenal in the trunk. Just gotta hit the bed twice to pop open the hidden compartment. Got new phones with new numbers, programmed mine into them..." Bobby sighs heavily, readjusting his worn and torn trucker's cap.

"Are you sure about this? The boys ain't going to be happy."

Your mouth twitches and you just stand there looking at Bobby.

You're going to miss this picture. Bobby in his plaid, sitting in the chair nursing a mug full of rotgut.

He sighs again before he stands up and embraces you in a hug. You reluctantly lift your arms and grip onto his shirt with a vice.

You knew you were making the right decision.

Sam and Dean don't need you anymore. And with John and the Demon gone, there's no strings attaching you to the Winchesters.

You are (Y/N) L/N. You're not even a Winchester by name.

So, you wai until night.

Sam was passed out over a pile of books and Dean had drunken himself into a stupor.

You took your bags and tiptoed to the door, giving them one last glance.

In minutes, your old phone and credit cards were placed on Bobby's kitchen table top, your bags were in the trunk, and your old life was being left behind.

You pulled out of the Salvage Yard for the last time and drove off wherever the blacktop led you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, I'm still writing up the next few chapters, so y'all be ready for what hits next.  
> Kudos and Comments are very, very, very, very, VERY much appreciated, and they are what makes the world go round. (:  
> Anyways, thanks for reading, stay tuned for the next update.  
> Peace out, bitches!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You figured this was what your life comprised of.
> 
> You couldn't go back to school, you couldn't have a normal life, so you killed everything that goes bump in the night simply because you knew how.
> 
> For 6 months, you ignored the longing in your heart. You missed Sam and Dean, but you knew they were better off without you--that you we're only a burden to their mission.
> 
> They were probably settling down, foregoing the hunt for a solution to Dean's predicament, and when they find it, they'll be able to have that life they wanted.
> 
> But not you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, this story has 202 Kudos, and it just makes me so happy.  
> Let me go quietly shed a tear for a moment.  
> I've been on a writing slowdown because school all of a sudden went WA-BAM and knocked me seven ways from Sunday right onto my ass.  
> But here is a chapter for you bbs. Because love is love and love is everywhere.  
> <3

It never really occurred to you how easy hunting was with other people. Now that you've come to conclude that you were alone, you hunted recklessly. All your time and energy was put into a hunt, the rest was on research and the barely enough sleep every other night or so.

The nightmares kept you awake, anyways.

You would forego the interviews and information gathering, instead scoping out and going for the kill.

you were a predator.

But, every night is the same as before. You would stand in front of the mirror, naked, digging into your Mark and poor excuse of a body.

In the silence of your cheap motel room, your thoughts would roar in your head, with no filter to block them.

_Who could love something so torn and scarred?_

_Who could look at your body and deem it beautiful?_

Maybe that's why you were cursed. Whereas some people were born with no mark, you were born with one printed in what looked like a dead language.

It taunted you.

So, you did the only thing you could do, hunt.

You figured this was what your life comprised of.

You couldn't go back to school, you couldn't have a normal life, so you killed everything that goes bump in the night simply because you knew how.

For 6 months, you ignored the longing in your heart. You missed Sam and Dean, but you knew they were better off without you--that you we're only a burden to their mission.

They were probably settling down, foregoing the hunt for a solution to Dean's predicament, and when they find it, they'll be able to have that life they wanted.

But not you.

You caught wind of a mysterious death in Pennsylvania, a young doctor who went to sleep and never woke up.

You text Bobby and ask for some assistance.

The two of you meet up, and dressed as a Fed, Bobby does most of the talking.

You meet and interview a young man named Jeremy, a volunteer for the Doctor's experiments. Patient Zero.

Jeremy offered Bobby a beer, you declined.

Tracing a hand along a collection of pictures, one of the frames knick your finger and you pull your hand back. You suck the blood off your finger and pull on Bobby's sleeve.

Something didn't feel right. You wanted to leave.

Bobby went back to the hotel to sleep, whereas you went to a bar. It was about 2 a.m. when you left, only having sat there for a few hours nursing 2 or 3 beers.

You walked in the direction of your hotel, within walking distance, before you felt something smash against the back of your head.

You crumble to the ground, unconscious.

The same dream came over and over again, a perpetual cycle that you could never run away from. It was your worst nightmare filled with fear and hurt and every feeling bleeding from your heart as well as the next person.

Even though it was a dream, it felt real.

It's always the same.

You freely hang from chains, the borderless room, black and red, a throne in the distance.

You hear the echoes of heavy footsteps approaching, the hairs on the back of your neck rising. The familiar, dark chuckles coming from every corner of the room penetrate your very soul, as you watch a set of green and hazels come into view.

The oldest approaches you with a tray filled with tools, and Sam takes a seat at the throne, clad in a white 3 piece suit.

"De, Sammy, help me!"

Their eyes flicker black, their grins wide and bloody.

You scream as Dean takes a knife, slashing into your body and pulling off pieces of your scarred skin.

You watch in horror, feeling every tear and bite and the stretch, and tears just fall down your face. For some reason, it felt different this time. More real.

Hatred and entertained thoughts filled your head, radiating from the monsters that assume the image of your "brothers," except it never stops.

You usually wake up from your nightmares at this moment, but the nightmare goes on. They never stop and your mind creates new, creative ideas in how Demon Dean is going to torture you.

You endure, voice going hoarse, and when he finishes, your body becomes whole again for him to start a new masterpiece.

It's better than what you see in the mirror every morning.

He likes to mock you, laugh at you, particularly about your mark. You feel humiliated and attacked.

But you let him.

After all, it was the truth.

Wasn't it?

It seems endless until you see a fresh pair of green eyes looking at you.

You turn to look away, if the demon was going to he creative, you didn't want to fall for their tricks.

"Fuck, Y/N!" You try your best to ignore that voice, the one that had been shredding you apart inch by inch, piece by piece.

"Y/N! Wake up, this is just a dream!"

You let out a sob. If the demon was trying to get at you this way, it was working.

"No, no, no. Anything but this." You stared at the demon and the evil Sammy, and they look confused and angry at the new Dean.

"Please don't do this to me," you plead to the demon.

"It's just a dream, Baby girl. It's really me!"

You shake your head, your body rattling with tears. It can't be Dean, because Dean would never come for you.

You feel a pair of hands framing your face, and you look into the clear set of emerald green eyes, the ones you we're so familiar with. You felt relief rush over you as you listened to his warbled words.

"Jeremy gave you African dream root! Sweetheart, you need to wake up so we can find you!"

You blink away the haze of fear and focus completely on the man before your eyes.

"De!?" He responds with a smile of relief.

"Yeah, kid. It's me."

"This is a dream?" You blink away the tears and look around.

"Yeah, it is." He pushes his forehead against yours, sighing deeply. "But I need you to tell me where you are. Do you know?"

You think back, realizing that this was in fact a dream. You think back to your last memory, your energy and body drained and frayed, memory jumbled.

You remember cutting your finger, going to the bar... heading to the hotel, but nothing after that.

You tell that to the Dean, and he curses under his breath. But he still pushes aside your wild hair and caresses your face with such care.

"Oh, Y/N... We missed you so much." He hugs you tight, you realize that the Demon and Evil Sam are gone.

You were slowly coming back to reality.

"I need you to wake up for me, Baby girl. Can you do that for me?" You nod hesitantly, and close your eyes tight, concentrating. The last thing you hear is his whispers.

"We're coming for you."

You jolt up from the unfamiliar bed, gasping for breath. The room is dark and you're cuffed to the frame of the bed, vulnerable, naked.

It's cold and scary, but you endure. You'll do that because Dean asked you to. And you'll do whatever you can for you rescuer.

A few times you hear shuffling from the other side of the wall, but when you feel the presence coming closer, you keep your eyes shut and pretend to sleep, but over time, it becomes harder and harder to stay awake.

You hunch inwards, and you can feel the temperature dropping, but you stay strong for the Winchester's, no matter how cold and terrified you are.

After all, you're still first, and foremost, a hunter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyy, so excited. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I apologize for the wait. I am working on the next chapter as you read, so please be patient.  
> Thank you all for the Kudos and the Comments, they really do keep me going. Honestly. And if you haven't Kudos or Commented already, I strongly advise you to do so. (:  
> They keep the creative faeries happy (as well as I, but that's besides the point.)  
> Anyways, thanks again! Keep trekking readers, and keep on keeping.  
> Peace out!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You slowly blink your eyes awake. You feel starchy covers under and over you, the beeping of multiple machines ring in your ears.
> 
> The lights shine brightly in your eyes and the stark white walls blind you.
> 
> A hospital, you realized.
> 
> You shoot up from your bed, gasping for air, hurriedly ripping needles from your arms and the cannulas from your nose.
> 
> You had to get out of there. Being a hunter was one thing, but not having proper documentation or backup was dangerous, especially in a hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, almost 250 Kudos, and each and every one of them tickles me, Elmo!  
> I haven't been able to work much on writing, being punched in the face by every one of my classes at College, and you know how that works.  
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, though. It's longer than the others, but I wasn't so happy with how I wrote it.  
> Regardless, I hope you guys enjoy!

You slowly blink your eyes awake. You feel starchy covers under and over you, the beeping of multiple machines ring in your ears.

The lights shine brightly in your eyes and the stark white walls blind you.

_A hospital,_ you realized.

You shoot up from your bed, gasping for air, hurriedly ripping needles from your arms and the cannulas from your nose.

You had to get out of there. Being a hunter was one thing, but not having proper documentation or backup was dangerous, especially in a hospital.

Scrambling around and trying to pull the covers off your body, you double your effort when two sets of hands cover you.

You blindly fight because instinct tells you to, until you hear that voice again.

"Y/N, calm down." You freeze, finally focusing your gaze on the elldest Winchester.

"Dean?" You ask in confusion before two nurses rush in, injecting you with a sedative.

You can feel your eyes roll back and you fall into unconsciousness.

It’s a few hour before you wake up once again, at peace with the idea that you were stuck in a hospital, despite your violent efforts to leave.

Heavily sighing, you turn your head slightly to see Dean standing by the window, arms folded across his chest, chewing anxiously on his thumb.

In the corner of your eye, you could see Sam sprawled out in the tiny couch he's on, snoring away like the Impala's engine.

You try to breathe in, your nostrils being tickled by the cannulas that were yet again placed on you. You attempted to talk, but your mouth felt like gritty.

As if he sensed you, Dean turned around and looked into your eyes. Rushing over, he poured you a cup of water, easing the pure liquid gold down your throat little by little.

Finally feeling close enough to alive, you look between Sam and Dean in confusion. You cleared your throat before asking.

"Dean? What happened?" He places the cup down and then gathers you into his arm, pressing his cheek into your hair. You sat there unknowing of what you should do.

He pushes you back at arms length and points a finger at you threateningly.

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again! You hear me?"

"What... what happened?" You take a glance at the corner of the room to see Sam still sleeping on, oblivious to the world.

"What's the last thing you remember?" You look back at Dean with furrowed eyebrows.

_What was he going on about?_

"Uh... the hunt. Bobby and Jeremy... the nightmare," you trailed off.

"Sweetheart… You've been under a coma since the nightmare." He sighs heavily, pulling you back into an embrace with your head tucked under his chin.

“How long?”

“A week,” he mutters.

"I'm so sorry that we couldn't get to you on time. It took us a day to find where Jeremy was hiding. We stopped him, but we almost lost you.”

What else could you say to him?

_Thanks for coming after me?_

_I’m sorr_ _y I left you blindsided almost half a year?_

_I’m sorry that you saved me? So how have you been?_

"What happened?" The question was more of a muffle, deafened by his chest.

"Hypothermia.” He responded. “Son of a bitch tied you up in that cage, naked, like a fucking _dog_."

"Oh…”

Silence. Dean was practically seething, something you had never really seen in your lifetime.

“Dean… Why are you here?" You kicked yourself in the head for blurring it out, and with the look on his face, you hated yourself even more.

You could just blame it on the drugs.

"What do you mean, Y/N? Why wouldn't we come for you?" He pulls back, face contorted between confusion and annoyance, like he couldn't believe that _you_ of all people would question their motives.

"You're our sister. Of course we would come and find you."

You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your cuticles. It was always a nervous habit of yours and Dean instantly zeroed in on it.

"Hey, hey, hey. No, none of that now." He gently placed his hands on top of yours, prying away the two of yours so he can grip one of each in his own.

You hear shuffling in the corner of the room and you look up through your eyelashes to see Sam alert, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes that just darn near break your heart.

You force yourself to look away. You don't need those feelings that are pouring from the both of them.

The wall was down for a week, but you instantly bring it back up full force.

"Well, thank you for that. But, I'm pretty sure there are cases out there that need to be solved."

It was a poor attempt at being subtle, but it was still an attempt. To brush them off, to push them away? Who knows? Your eyes prickled and you felt the pressure in your chest but you ignored it.

"Y/N..."

Clearing your throat, you looked up to the Winchesters and smiled tentatively.

"Where's Bobby?"

The brothers share a look between them in which you disregard. It was always something that they did, and no matter how long you were with them for, you never understood their ability to communicate nonverbally.

It was Sam who broke the moment of silence.

"He, uh... he went back to base."

Silently, you nod to yourself. Bobby left so that the boys could clean up after _your mess_.

After all, that's what you were, weren't you?

_A mess._

Looking up is a struggle, but you flash the brightest smile their way and fake it, because that’s what you know how to do.

"It was nice seeing you, but it’s okay if you want to leave."

You learned from the best, and it was almost convincing if the Winchester's weren't so tired of your shit.

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"Dean..." From the corner of your eye, the younger brother stood from his seat, approaching cautiously.

"No, Sammy. We almost lost her, _again_ , and I'd be damned… _again_ , if I didn't find out as to why our baby sister left us high and dry in the middle of the God damn night, without so much as a note."

"Could you just drop it? Please De?"

" _No, Y/N_. I won't just _'drop it.'_ " With wistful eyes, he looks down at you with every question on the tip of his tongue.

"What the hell happened, Y/N?" He quietly asks. Your eyes flicker between the two brothers, you don't know what to say.

"I... dreamed a dream in times gone by." That earned a scowl from the both of them.

"Bull," Dean spat.

"What do you want me to say, Dean!?"

"The truth."

"I was… just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world.”

_“Y/N,”_ Dean growled. It froze you to the core. That was how Da- _John_ , addressed you when he was pissed—when you messed up on a hunt or ignored an order.

“Enough with the bullshit lyrics!” You stiffened, looking at the older Winchester challengingly.

“Why do I have to tell you anything?”

“ _Why?_ Because—”

“Because, _what_ , Dean? You’re not Da- _John_. And you never will be.” Dean wasn’t the only one who heard the slip-up. It had been something you’ve been doing lately, disconnecting yourself from _that life_.

“What—?” You ignored Sam, jabbing while defending yourself from the other brother.

“I’m an _adult_ now, Dean—”

“Like _hell_ you are. You’re only 19!” You scoff, you weren’t going to be lectured, _yet again._

Grabbing blindly, you pull out the needles and node patches from your skin, the machines going haywire and beeping relentlessly.

Sam rushes over, trying to calm you down as a handful of nurses rush back into the room, yelling at you to relax and get back in bed.

With your unnatural strength, you push through the crowd only to have a set of arms wrap around your body, your own arms confined in the embrace.

“Sam! Let go of me!” He quietly picks you up, settling back down on the hospital bed. He holds you as Dean forces all the help to leave the room for privacy. “Sam!”

You’re huffing, puffing and crying, but you never relent to Sammy’s Sasquatch strength.

He patiently holds you as you struggle, wiping your eyes and shushing into your hair. He pulls back every once in a while to brush a strand of hair out of your face, and you let your walls down for just a moment.

It was times like this that haunted your dreams. You missed the Winchesters with your very being. You missed the way that Dean would go Alpha-Male and protect everything and everyone he cared about. You missed the way that Sam was the gentle giant of the two, soothing you from your nightmares and your worries. He was the one you could always go to, but ever since the whole Yellow-Eyed Demon debacle, you closed yourself off.

Quiet settled in the room besides your heavy breathing and sniffling. You turned yourself in Sam’s embrace and buried your face deeper into his warmth. The bed dipped further on the other side, Dean making his presence known by a hand on your calf.

Time passed by slowly. It felt like hours, but it was probably more like minutes. Your sobs tapered off into whimpers and quiet shudders of breath, but the pressure around you never lessened.

Eventually the silence was broken by Sam, as he pulled back and watched as you nosed at his chest. It broke his heart to see you this way, and it just brought back memories of when you were younger, crying in the middle of the night about the monsters in your dreams.

He was your anchor, and he never realized how far you had drifted.

“Y/N?” You sniff in response. He releases you slightly, and you instantly bring a hand up to wipe at your nose.

“Are you okay now?”

Dean sighs heavily. He never meant to come off that strongly, but he just wanted to satisfy his curiosity. He had questions that he needed answers to, and his clock was quickly running out of time.

Honestly, he felt a twinge of jealousy, seeing how you reacted to Sam the way that you did. He knew he was always harsh on you, but it was the way that his Father treated him, so he knew no better. Dean always wished he had that kind of relationship with you, but in retrospect, he realized how much like shit he treated you.

“I’m sorry, little Sis.” Your lips and jaw trembled at that word. You hated it.

“Don’t call me that,” you spat. “Don’t call me something you don’t mean.”

Dean flinched back, never expecting to understand as to why you reacted the way you did. He tried again.

“ _Okay… Y/N?_ Are you ready to talk now?”

“What’s going on? Talk to us.”

You turn to look at him, eyes glossy and red. Your lip peels back in a snarl, but you reel it back in.

It was now or never, and you might as well get it over with.

“Why, Dean?

“How could you _ever_ want to know _‘what’s going on’_ with a Freak like me?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, you reached yet another end of a chapter, and if you read this, then I thank you profusely for your dedication to this fic.  
> I hope I didn't disappoint you, Readers, however if I did, I apologize.  
> It's November 1, and Day Lights Savings has just started, and regardless of how young I am, I am feeling like an oldie and I need my sleep, so I bid you adieu.   
> Kudos and Comments will really, really make my day. Thank you!  
> Peace out, Bitches!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers exchanged looks, yet again, but this time they were looks of clarity.  
> “Don’t call me ‘sis’ when I’m one step closer to the chopping block on that long list of monsters you want to gank, Dean.”  
> His face set into a grim line, apparently unamused with your accusations.  
> “So that’s why you were taken with Sam.” It was more of a statement than a question, but you shrug in what little space you have regardless.  
> You squirm a little in your space. You might not be short, but Sam always engulfed you whenever you were in his embrace.  
> “Is that why you left us?” You shrug again. It was hard enough to think about it, it wasn’t going to be easy talking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek, I'm sorry that I've been bad at updating.  
> It's the last few weeks of school, and since it's my senior year, I've just been bombarded with a bunch of assignments, papers and all the works.  
> I decided to shove 20 credit hours for my last semester, trying to graduate on time, so next semester is going to be hell on wheels.  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter, cause I sure as hell hated writing it.  
> I'm not too happy with it, but I hope you are!

The brothers exchanged looks, _yet again,_ but this time they were looks of clarity.

“Don’t call me ‘sis’ when I’m one step closer to the chopping block on that long list of monsters you want to gank, Dean.”

His face set into a grim line, apparently unamused with your accusations.

“So that’s why you were taken with Sam.” It was more of a statement than a question, but you shrug in what little space you have regardless.

You squirm a little in your space. You might not be short, but Sam always engulfed you whenever you were in his embrace.

“Is that why you left us?” You shrug again. It was hard enough to think about it, it wasn’t going to be easy talking about it.

“Does it have anything to do with Dad?”

“Does it have to do with Sam?”

“Come on, Kiddo…” He then froze, not liking the next train of thought.

“Does it have to do with me?”

You keep still. That was answer enough for Dean as he pushed himself off the bed, kicking the chair next to the bed away. You flinched at the grating sound, feeling Sam pull you in more.

"DAMN IT," he roared.

"Dean... calm down."

" _No_ , Sam. I can't just..." Dean runs both hands through his hair, gripping with all his strength as he tries to reign in his feelings.

“How do you expect me to calm down when she left because of me?”

You gasped aloud, all the regret, the hate. It hit you like a freight train and you hunched in on yourself.

For the first time in a long time, you wailed.

Every feeling, every emotion that was blocked by your wall, bottled up, came pouring out and it bubbled up through your very being.

All you could do was lash out in response.

"You want to know why!? I'm a Freak, Dean! A freak! You ask me why it's because of you, it's because of everything.

"You abandoned me long before I abandoned you, Dean Winchester. You, Sam, Da—John. I never should've been a part of this story in the first place. John Winchester should've left me in that fire to die!

"I'm tainted, unwanted. John left me. He died for you without a second thought about how I felt. Sam left me for Stanford, which I supported, but he died in front of me and I felt every moment of it. Dean, you blamed me for his death, and you were right.

"You know why I am angry? Do you know why I left? It’s because it should've been me, Dean! You shouldn't have to go to Hell for my mistakes. It should've been me who made the deal because I'm nothing compared to you.

"I've got demon blood flowing through my veins, I'm broken. Impure. My soul mate is gone in the wind, _if_ I even have one, and you can't even stand to be near me.

“ _I_ should be the one dying in your place.

"I'm not even one of you.

"So, no. _Don't_ call me ‘sis’ because I will _never_ be a Winchester."

You finally took a breath, ignoring the silence around you.

"You should've just left me to die with Jeremy," you whispered quietly.

Sam's grip on you tightened and you stiffened for the inevitable response.

Dean would probably say that everything you said was true, and that it would be stupid for you to think otherwise.

"Is that what you really think?" His voice was riddled with such sadness.

You snort.

You never expected Dean to apologize.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)."

"No, you're not Dean. I was there. I felt all the rage. The hate? You believed that I let Sam get killed, that I wanted Sam to die. But, not once did you ever stop to think for a moment, to ask how I was doing." You glared up at the older Winchester with as much loathing you can muster.

"I felt Sam die, Dean. I felt the pain, the fear. It ran through my very core and you couldn't get your head out of your ass for a moment to ask how I felt as I watched my brother die?

"I lost both of my brothers, but in the end, it was never about me. Dad died, and you and Sammy killed the Demon without my help. Like always.

"Don’t you understand, Dean? I could never have what you two have. The Winchester pride? The very nature of your brotherhood. I could never understand how it works.

“And when the job was finished, I knew that leaving was the best option. After all, you avenged _your_ Mother— _John_ 's soul mate.

"As for me, I never knew my parents. They meant nothing to me.

"So, I left and that's the truth. I never really belonged in your family. I was just another means to an end."

You sighed deeply into Sam's chest, pushing yourself more into his strong embrace, kind of hoping that he could just absorb you and you could disappear.

"Happy now?" Dean had the most incredulous look on his face as he looked down at you, mouth gaping.

"Do you really think that I would be happy after all of that? Do you really think that I would just ‘ _be fine’_ knowing that this was what you have been thinking for the past 6 months—maybe more?”

Dean swiped a hand across his face, sighing heavily into his palm.

“(Y/N), I’m not the best person to talk about my… _feelings,_ and I know I’ve been a shitty brother, but _not once_ have I ever thought that you weren’t a part of us.

“Thinking back now, I know I was pissed. Dad had died, Sammy had died—I _failed,_ (Y/N). I failed to keep my family protected, and then there was you. I knew it was a matter of time before I lost you, too.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry, and I know that in this universe, we’ve been dealt with a shitty hand, but whatever Powers That Be out there gave us you.

“So, you’re still my baby sister, whether you like it or not.”

Quickly, you swept away the wetness in your eyes. You always hated Dean’s ability to win people over with his words.

_Charismatic bastard._

“I'm sorry, Dean but It’s not going to be that easy for me to forgive you, let alone _trust_ you, you know that?”

A look of defeat flashed across Dean’s face and he knelt beside the bed, hesitating to reach out for you. He decided to not.

“I know, but please come back to us. If not for me, then for Sam.”

Your gaze flickered back to the taller brother, looking into his red-rimmed eyes. Looking back at Dean, you nodded slowly, but before he could celebrate, you opened your mouth.

“One condition.” Dean nodded enthusiastically, watching every twitch of your mouth. “No more lies. No more keeping me in the dark, because I _will_ know.”

“No more lies,” Sam mutters into your hairline before kissing your temple.

You relax a little in his arms, finally feeling all the adrenaline flush out, leaving you strung out and tired.

Turning back into Sam’s chest, you finally let go of your inhibitions and close your eyes, everything slowly fading away into the darkness, where you sleep peacefully for the first time in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, there's the chapter. Ugh, I'm so unhappy with it, it seems choppy and whatever but, ugh.  
> Them's the breaks when you're juggling school and life and stress.  
> But the one thing that brings me back up is your Comments and Kudos. Thank you everyone who has been following this fic, hopefully I break 300 Kudos!  
> If you haven't commented or Kudos'd (yes, that is a thing), then please do so! It will be much appreciated, and it's another way of showing appreciation for others who do put their hard work and creativity into bringing you more fics.  
> Anyways! I hope you enjoy, I will try to update regularly again, but we'll see!  
> Thanks again, and peace out, bitches!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayayay, I finally got 300+ Kudos!  
> Thank you everyone who has been following me! I've been trying to write as fast as possible, and it's been going great so far.  
> I know a lot of you have been concerned about the angst and the build up, but don't worry. I know it's taking a while, but like I said, it's a canon compliance, so I'm trying to follow up on the timeline as close as possible.  
> But, don't worry!  
> Castiel, our friendly neighborhood Angel, will be coming soon!  
> Anyways, here's a chapter for the 300 kudos, so enjoy!  
> All mistakes are mine and mine alone, and I do not own SPN!

The boys find a way to discharge you from the hospital under their care, and you leave the day after the fallout, going out to pick up your car from the motel and head out to a storage unit to store her.

Collecting your bag and a few choice weapons, you pat the roof of your personal version of Baby and close the door behind you. Dean pops open the trunk and you take the extra effort to walk around him, throwing your stuff in the trunk before rounding back again to sit behind Sam.

In the past 6 months, you never believed that you would be back with the boys, riding cross country in the only place you've really called your home. You kept quiet, buzzing with an energy that you couldn't describe, realizing in that moment that this was actually happening.

It wasn't going to be easy, obviously, and you knew it was going to be hard on you. I mean, honestly. You were ready to let go of everything, but the two brothers somehow dug their claws into you tight and dragged you back into their world.

It was kind of infuriating.

But, figuring as how Dean had a little over 3 months left, you would tag along once more. You owed him that much at least.

The first hunt together involved a mystery spot in Florida, and a missing blogger who debunks tourist traps such as that.

The first morning after, Sam looks a little strung out. He asks you if you had any weird dreams, but you shake your head.

He apologizes, saying he had one but chooses to ignore it.

"Clowns or midgets?"

You roll your eyes as Sam scoffs, tying up your boots and grabbing your jacket before leaving the motel room in a hurry.

You tried to limit the amount of time you spend in the room with him.

In the diner, you opt to sit next to Moose, foregoing breakfast for a cup of juice and a morning of staring out the window.

You catch snippets of the conversation, something about déjà vu, and you turn your neck at the right moment, watching Sam catch the bottle of hot sauce.

_Impressive._

After breakfast, the three of you walk down the sidewalk, still talking about the mystery spot. You stop to pet a dog, looking up at Dean's voice, as he looks back and says something before he gets thrown into the air by a car.

You and Sam scream out loud, calling out loud as you watch Dean bleed out.

It wasn't even his time, yet.

You shoot up from the couch, Asia playing on the radio. You turn to look at Sam's bewildered expression. In an instant, your dream dissipates into a faded thought.

You shrug and continue with your routine, washing up, stringing up your boots and rushing out the door with your jacket in hand.

There's a strange sensation when you walk into the diner, Sam freaking out about something so strong, it's knocking hard on your walls.

Conversations pass as you look out the window, sipping your juice.

You walk down the street, something so familiar, and you watch Sam stop Dean from crossing the road before a crazed old man shoots out into the main road with his jalopy of a car.

Sam interrogates the owner of the mystery spot, nothing strange going on, so you decide to head back to the hotel.

You ask Sam something on the way, Dean turns to look and for that split moment, a desk falls and crushes Dean Winchester.

You wake up.

Every day, you hear the same conversation, it comes back to you little by little.

Sam is going haywire mentally, and the guilt is weighing you down every time you wake up, but you never mention it to him.

The dream becomes more and more real and you realize that Sam wasn't lying.

A time loop, he calls it.

And each time Dean dies, it's your fault.

Electrocutions, poisonous tacos because you didn’t want _that one_ , freak shower accidents because you forgot to rinse off the soap, archery mishaps, bird maulings, dog attacks, axe mutilations, every possible possibility, and every time you remember more and more.

And it all boils down to one thing. Dean dies, Sam lives, you're left with the guilt.

_It's all your fault, it's all your fault, it's all your fault._

The constant mantra in your head is enough to make you insane.

It isn't until one Tuesday that the man on the counter has strawberry syrup.

In the 100+ days that you recall, not once had he _not_ have maple syrup, and at that realization, you wake up to Asia one last time.

Sam figured it out, cornering the man from the counter, stake flush against his chest.

"A trickster," he calls him.

The man's face shifts, and you remember that smirk vividly.

"The janitor..."

You listen in to the dialogue between Sam and the trickster.

"So this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over again?

"One, yes. It is fun. And two? This is so not about killing Dean. This joke is on you two, Sam. Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?"

"You son of a bitch." Sam snarls at the demigod.

When his gaze shifts towards you, you're caught by surprise.

"And you, bucko. It was never supposed to go the way it did, but you just have to accept fate. Accept the fact that Dean-o over here is dying because of something you had no control over, and that's not something you can ever change. How long will it take for you two to realize? You can't save your brother. No matter what.

“You’re an Empath, Y/N. Use your mojo on me to see if I’m lying.”

You shut your eyes, projecting your wall outwards and shutting down, ignoring the words being exchanged, ignoring the snap of his fingers and the change in scenery.

That split second, you felt it. The truth along with an infinite power coming from the Trickster.

It felt like you'd been rammed by an 18 Wheeler, which is saying something because you actually know the feeling.

The brothers are still sleeping into the early hours of Wednesday, and you can't handle the heavy feeling.

Your suspicions were confirmed by a damn Trickster, but you weren't having any of it.

Shoving your arms into your jacket, feet into your boots, you check your pockets for the rectangular cartridge.

Quietly, you sneak out into the dawn, sitting your butt down with your back against the tail of the Impala. You pull your knees up as you pull out a cigarette and light it up at your lips.

You grimace at the first inhale, knowing it was a disgusting habit, but it somewhat got you through the past 6 months.

You silently watch the sun rise, the wisp of smoke rising from the end of the cigarette catching your gaze.

It was a bad idea to come back, you think.

Still chilly outside, you shove your hands in your pockets, ignoring the chill from the ground. You faintly hear the freak out the boys are having inside the hotel, but you decide to smoke another one.

Dean finds his way out, startled and relieved to find you outside by yourself.

His eyes flick from the stick hanging from your fingers to your face of exhaustion. You looked unrested, eyes rimmed with dark, baggy circles. It was as if he was looking at you from a new perspective.

You looked older than you were, as if the weight of the world was multiplied on your shoulders. But he was proud of you. You kept your head held high, and you took shit from no one, despite the change in the dynamic of your relationship.

It still broke his heart.

Clearing his throat, Dean looked down at his toes, before looking up through his lashes.

“Those things will kill you, you know that?”

You took one more inhalation of the cigarette, even though there was still half, eyeing the tip while blowing out the smoke before throwing it across the parking lot.

You suddenly lost your craving.

Pushing up, you swiped off any dirt from the bottom of your pajamas and attempt to walk around the man.

Dean steps out in front of you, causing you to run into his solid chest head-on. Stumbling back, you rub at the top of your head.

“ _Ow_. _Excuse_ me.”

You could practically hear the Winchester’s eye roll.

“You can’t always run away from me, Y/N. The same way you can’t run or hide away from a problem, or a hunt?”

Scowling at Dean, you attempt to take another step around him, only to be thwarted again.

“Get out of my way, Dean.”

Your walls were up, but your mind and heart was filling up with unnecessary stress, yet again.

Quickly digging into your pockets, you pull out another cigarette and light it at your mouth. You never smoked this much at once, but your so-called brother was keeping you on edge.

Before your first inhale, Dean rips the cigarette from your mouth and tosses it into the wind all while keeping his eyes on you.

"What the fuck, De!?"

Before you can protest anymore, Dean was pulling you into his arms, ignoring your flailing.

"Get off of me!"

"It's not your fault, Y/N!" You attempted to pull away even more, only to have Dean doubling his efforts to reel you back in.

"It was never your fault, and I'm sorry that I blamed you. For _it_ , for _everything_. I’m sorry for being the shittiest brother that anyone could ask for. And I’m sorry that you have to deal with this, but I need you to listen to me." Pulling you back at arm’s length, Dean ducked to look you straight in the eyes.

“It is _not_ your fault, Y/N. Do I wish things were different? Sure. But if I could do this all over again, I would do it the same exact way. I would _never_ want to see you in my position, and it would break my heart to see you become a Hellhound chew toy.”

Tears ran down your face as you listened to Dean’s plea. Even your wall wasn’t strong enough to withstand Dean Winchester’s emotions.

“Fuck what the Trickster said. You might not be a Winchester by name, but you are still family. You got that? Even if I was going to die tomorrow, you’re still my baby sister. Okay, sweetheart?”

You let out a tiny sob, only to have it absorbed into the canvas jacket that Dean was wearing.

"You and your stupid martyr complex," you huff in amusement.

"I could say the same for you," Dean retorts. You could hear the tiny smile in his voice before feeling a firm set of lips on your crown.

"Could you go and get ready, baby girl?” He sounded hesitant calling you a pet name, but without your protest he continued. “We're rolling out in 15." You nod, quickly wrapping your arms around his waist before quickly running off to your hotel room.

The second you step through the doorway, you hear a loud gunshot and you feel a sharp pain in your chest. Looking down, there's no blood.

"Dean," you gasp. Sammy runs out the door before you can turn around, and there on the floor is Dean Winchester, dying from a gunshot wound to the chest.

You drop onto the floor, curling inwards and pulling your legs up with your arms wrapped around.

It happened. Again. And it  _was_ your fault. _  
_

Over the next six months, you found yourself more and more distant from Sam. It wasn't on your part, but you could feel Sam hollowing out. The pain dissipated into anger, rage, and then nothing. The thirst for revenge was the one thing driving Sam on autopilot.

The first month, he dropped you off at Bobby's before driving off on his own crusade. You helped Bobby as much as you can, but the amount of buzz coming off from Bobby was enough to drive you mad.

One day you get a call, Sam's name flashing across the screen.

"Hello, Sam?"

"Y/N... I found him." The voice cuts off with a click, then with a buzz your phone flashes a text with coordinates.

"Bobby! How do you summon a Trickster!?"

You can't remember driving down to the beat up house, but finally seeing Sam for the first time in a while, you embraced him.

For a moment you were brought back to that moment when Dean closed himself off from you the night Sam died.

You looked at the floor, all the materials for the summoning ritual were present except...

"What are you missing?" You turn to look at Sam, but his face is set in a frighteningly blank expression.

"Blood. At least a gallon, and fresh." You furrowed your eyebrows.

"You're willing to bleed a person dry? An innocent?" You could hear the click in his jaw before you see it, taut and firm.

"It's either now or in the next 50 years, and I'm not taking my chances, Y/N!" You reel back from the emotions pouring from the brother. He was like a frightened animal, forced to back up into the corner until he lashes out.

He stinks of rage and fear, reeks of it.

"I can't let you do that, Sam."

"Then why did you bring me here?" Your face scrunched in confusion.

"I didn't call you anything, Sam. You called me!"

"I didn't—"

"Regardless, Sam. I will not let you go and murder someone in cold blood! If anyone has to die, then kill me."

Pulling out a knife from your thigh strap, you suspend the knife across, hilt towards Sam.

"Are you fucking crazy? No!" You sigh heavily. Tired of all of this, of everything.

"If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I would rather die than another civvie, that way you can finally get your brother back."

You turn around at his nod, kneeling and waiting for the inevitable, except it's not a knife sticking through your chest. It's a stake.

"You're not Y/N." Sam grits out.

You breathe in deep, trying to get air into your punctured lung as tears prickle in your eyes. You're in shock, but you fall forward and lay there, eyes fixed on Sam. Smiling slightly, you try to convey that you don't blame him.

Darkness blurs around the edge of your vision, until you close your eyes and succumb to it.

"Finally," you breathe out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh nooo. Oh gosh, what am I doing with my life?  
> I hope you guys enjoyed it, I wasn't sure about this chapter, but I didn't want to post everything I've written out for you all at once.  
> But don't worry, cliffhanger or no, you ask and you shall receive.  
> However, I don't know how long until my next update, so don't stand on your toes for too long bbs :D  
> Anyways, Kudos and Comments are most appreciated!  
> Thanks again, peace out, bitches!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is quickly winding down, and in the back of your mind, you know that you can’t save Dean. It was like the Trickster said, we couldn’t do anything about it.
> 
> The Wednesday that you opened up your eyes, you felt disappointed that it wasn’t your time to go. You knew that Sam killed you, hell, you felt it, but you didn’t—couldn’t assume that he made a deal. If anything it was the Trickster’s doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter--holy crap, I hadn't realized it had almost been a whole month since I last posted.  
> School had been hectic, I'm winding to my last two weeks, (more like 2 days of finals,) and so I have so much more free time!  
> I apologize so much for not uploading, I had a hard time coming up with an ending to this chapter, but this is definitely the longest chapter to boot.  
> I pretty much just summed out Season 3, and I will start writing out the next season soon!  
> Keep on your toes, for Castiel is finally making his debut!  
> Anyways, here's the chapter, almost 4k words, I hope you enjoy. (:

Time is quickly winding down, and in the back of your mind, you know that you can’t save Dean. It was like the Trickster said, we couldn’t do anything about it.

The Wednesday that you opened up your eyes, you felt disappointed that it wasn’t your time to go. You knew that Sam killed you, hell, you _felt_ it, but you didn’t—couldn’t assume that he made a deal. If anything it was the Trickster’s doing.

It didn’t make things any less awkward seeing as how Sam couldn’t look you in the eyes anymore. It was like he knew that he stabbed you in cold blood, maybe he did.

You ignored it, brushing it aside like you did everything else, but now you knew. You were expendable, and you didn’t blame him. If anything, it brought you relief.

It was always niggling in the back of your mind, but you knew you were too much of a coward to do _it._ You’d rather it be done by someone you love.

So, you soldiered on. It wasn’t a time for you to be selfish, anyways; Dean’s life was at stake.

The case following the Mystery Spot, the three of you get arrested.

It was stupid really. Bela…the Colt—honestly, need I say more?

Agent Henriksen finally got what he wanted, the three of you in cuffs behind a jail cell, the only problem is that there was a demon in breach.

Dean gets shot, but the agents don’t believe you when you tell them that demons are attacking.

 _Hello_? The lifeless, bloodless meat suit laying on the floor says otherwise!

While you wait, Sam speaks his first words to you in a few days as he patches up Dean’s wound. Well, the first words outside of necessity.

"So, (Y/N)... we never asked. What exactly _is_ your gift?"

Side-eyeing the younger brother, you pick at your cuticles, feigning disinterest.

“You’re asking this _now?”_ You roll your eyes as you see his broad shoulders shrug up and down. Sighing, you respond.  “Empathy.”

You turned back to the task in front of you, completely unaware of the look of awe coming from Sam.

“You’re an _empath?_   So what? You can—”

“ _Feel_ , Sam. Yes, I can feel feelings, pain. Anything and everything within or out of context.” You swipe at your pants for any residual flakes before you looked back at the giant nerd.

“Oh. So when you meant you felt it."

"I meant that I feel everything."

"I would say that that is pretty cool... but."

 _"Yeah,"_ you breathed out.

 _"Hey_ , back at the camp… did you have any… weird _dreams?_ Like—”

“Like Yellow Eyes trying to hit me up? Sure. Right before Ava went all Carrie on us."

You watched Sam fidget with his fingers, flexing them back and forth like he was nervous.

It wouldn't be a surprise if he was nervous, seeing as how the boys have been acting like they've been walking on eggshells around you ever since Mystery Spot.

"What... what did he say to you?" You scratch at your nose, not wanting to talk about it. But you owed Sam an explanation at least.

"Said I primed a little too early. Shouldn't have been there that day, but I was supposed to survive with you."

Sighing you turn back to your fingers, even though you've gone over them a million times.

"He was rooting for you, Sam. He was rooting for me, too. Apparently empathy is more than someone can ask for, but over time and with practice I can get stronger—I _have_ gotten stronger.

"I was supposed to be your right hand girl, but how could I do that when I can't even protect you?"

Huffing, you put rub palms against the denim on your thighs before standing up and shoving your hands into your pockets.

You feel a strong pair of arms wrap around you, and you bring your own hands up, gripping onto them.

"Don't say that. I don't blame you for my death, at all. You shouldn't either." Before you could respond, Nancy, the little mouse, comes in, interrupting the moment. Sam pulls her in and steals her crucifix, throwing it to you so you can bless the toilet water.

In a few minutes, everything happens in a flash. You exorcise Henriksen, in which he releases you from the cell. Everything else outside is up in the air. Communication is shot, transportation is a no-go, the only thing you could do is barricade the station with salt.

Dean goes out to get materials from Baby, only to be running back like a Hellhound is on his tail. _(Too soon?)_

The walls rumble as demons pound on every entrance, the room shakes and the lights flicker. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought it was a storm.

Ruby comes to the rescue, as per usual. But there’s a new big bad in town taking after Yellow Eyes.

In order to make sure you survive to kill the ugly bitch is to perform a ceremony that would require a _person of virtue._ You try to sacrifice yourself in place of Nancy, the Virgin.

The boys absolutely refuse.

The decision is then made, everyone fights, arming themselves with holy water, salt and a shotgun with salt rounds. Trap set, eventually the demons are locked in and exorcised.

It seems like everything goes well, everyone is saved, until they aren’t.

Back at the hotel, Ruby walks in to let you know that the whole station blew up minutes after you left.

Your face falls, and your fear heightens. You sense an impending doom.

Regardless, the three of you go back to your old ways. You hunt when you can while trying to find a cure for Dean.

You meet the “Ghostfacers” at the Morten House, cringing at their name like something that came straight out of the SyFy channel. Piss-poor example of hunters, but whatever.

The next case leads to Milan, Ohio where there is a Crocatta haunting people who miss their loved ones, a scavenger demon.

You get the call from Dad, but you’re stupid enough to follow it despite the warnings.

After all, Dad’s dead and you never hear the end of it from both Sam and Dean for the rest of the week.

In April, you find yourself in Pennsylvania, Sam finding a lead on an immortal organ harvester, an _Alchemist._ He kidnaps people to surgically remove their organs, only to dump them alive later on.

You knew what Sammy was doing, but you never voiced your thoughts. If this was how Dean could survive, then you would help in any way you could, except the man in question is having none of it.

He caught on fairly quickly, and he decided he wasn’t going to live the way Doc was. So he packed up his things and left the two of you to keep on this wild chase.

You sigh, turning towards the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes.

 _Immortality, might be nice_ , you think to yourself as you prepare for a shower. Looking in the fogging mirror, you scratch absentmindedly at your ribs. Your reflection clearly displays the thin white lines marred across your whole body, especially around your mark.

_But then again, you wouldn’t want an immortal life with ugly scars._

You dig deeper.

Once out of the shower, you find that Sam is gone. Running towards the window, you look out the motel to find the parking lot empty.

Cursing to yourself, you quickly get dressed and sit with nowhere to go. You didn’t know where to go, you had no direction.

Huffing, you slouch into the disgusting, stained couch, waiting for Sam. A cloth covered hand is shoved into your face from behind, and before long your limbs go slack and your eyes shut.

Opening your eyes, you don’t know how you go to where you were. You were strapped onto a metal slab, head strapped to restrict movement. Adjusting your eyes, you looked to the side to see Sam in the same position with Doc hovering over, an ice cream scooper in his hand.

You feel like screaming, but the Doc turns his gaze on you, a slow and methodical finger reaching up to his lips.

He shushes you, his creepy voice telling you to calm down.

“You’ll eventually get your turn, my sweet. I could always use a new set of lungs.”

Your eyes grow wide in fear, looking down to see your naked body on display, your marred brand out in the open.

Before you could protest, you flinch as loud pangs of gunshots ring through the air.

Everything happens in a blur, you get carried out in shock, more like ashamed that the brothers had seen your scars. You could recognize pity and sympathy coming from their emotions, as well as their pinched faces, and they had it on full blast.

You were set into the backseat of the Impala and left there as the boys crammed Doc into a refrigerator and bound it tight with chains before dropping it six feet under.

Tears filled your eyes. Everything was failing and you were one step closer to losing Dean.

Time flew too fast yet too slow at the same time. It was finally his last 30 hours, and the three of you were on a rampage looking for Lilith, until you weren’t.

Bobby found a tracking spell.

Lilith was possessing a little girl in New Harmony, Indiana but Dean dismissed everything from the start.

No summoning Ruby, no going in guns half-cocked. The argument was brief, but you sat in the back and watched as everyone stormed away.

Instead of chasing after one or the other, you sat your ass back down on the table and you cracked open another book. If Dean didn’t like what Sam suggested, you were going to do something.

If it’s the last good thing you could do for Dean, you would take it.

You knew Sam was in the basement trying to summon Ruby, but you were going to respect Dean’s wishes.

  
After all, you weren’t the one who was thirsty for Demon [à](https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/%C3%A0_la_mode#French)la mode.

 

You try to distance yourself as you read through the tome. Building up your wall ten-fold for what was to come.

You haven’t completely forgiven Dean yet, but you knew it would still hurt when the time came.

The sounds of heavy boots stomping up the stairs fills your ears as you attempt to tune out the arguing.

Dean caught Sam in the act, but judging from Dean’s words, he had the knife.

They start packing their stuff, and when they sit near you on the table, you get up and leave them in privacy. You suspect that they’re going to have another Winchester brother moment and you’d rather not be in the same room as them, so instead you entertain yourself with Bobby in the other room.

You had just woken up and were still packing when Dean and Sam attempt to leave, only to have Baby stall. Shoving anything and everything you can in your duffle, you rush downstairs to see Bobby holding up the distributor cap.

You couldn’t believe that they were going to leave you.

“Do I look like a ditchable prom-date to you?” Bobby sneers.

“No, Bobby. Of course not,” Sam responds.

“This fight is about me… and Sam. Okay? This isn’t your fight.”

Bobby splutters and steps forward threateningly.

“The _hell_ it isn’t. Family _don’t_ end with blood, boy.”

“Bobby…” you start. Three sets of eyes look towards you in shock, like they hadn’t expected you to still be here.

You listen to Bobby talking about Dean’s hallucinations, and how he needs all the help he can get.

Stepping forward towards the Impala, Dean pulls you into a hug and kisses your temple.

“Take care of yourself, baby girl.” You pull back in confusion.

“What are you talking about, Dean? I’m coming with you.”

He shakes his head in the negative, stepping back towards the car.

“No, you’re not. I don’t want you seeing me like this.” Dean opens the car door and slips in.

“I love you,” and with that Dean shuts the door and locks the car before you could open up back door.

“Dean? Dean. Open the door!” Looking back at you, the soft smile on his face breaks your spirit.

“Dean!? You open up this God damn door, _now!_ ”

You hit the car with your fist, screaming at the top of your lungs in attempt to change Dean’s mind, but he slowly pulls forward, driving away with Bobby trailing after him.

“Dean!” Your screams echoed throughout the empty lot. “Son of a bitch!”

You were left behind, watching the tail end of the Impala and Bobby’s car as you stood in the middle of the salvage yard on your own, bag spilled at your feet.

Picking up your bag, you rushed back to the garage, sure there was _something_ there that Bobby had that you could use.

“Please, please, please,” you kept muttering under your breathe as you searched left and right for a vehicle.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You kicked a stray rock across, watching as it flew across the air and ricocheted off of one of the junkers.

Hoisting up your bag, you sprinted down the street.

If you were going to get somewhere, might as well start running first. You were going to make it some way or another, Winchester Complex be damned.

It takes a few hours, but eventually you come across a packed roadside bar. Your body and feet ache, your legs are cramping, but you’re running out of time.

You look around a few times before you come across a long line of Harleys, and looking around, you decide that no one was going to mistake this bike for _not_ being yours.

It was a newer model of the Sportster, but _hey_ , if you were going to steal a ride, you might as well ride with style.

Checking to make sure there was oil, you checked your watch, the very same watch that John gave you all those years ago. Shaking your head of your thoughts, you calculated that there was a little under 14 hours, and if you speed, you can make the drive in about 10 hours.

You knew, once you got there, you’d have a limited amount of time to try to save Dean, as much as you can save a dead man walking.

Mounting the bike, you pressed down on the kick start, hearing the bike purr nicely. It reminded you a little of the Impala.

You hear the door swing open to your side and your eyes go wide as you see a bunch of Hell’s Angels wannabes stare right at you.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

“Hey! That’s my bike!”

Yelping, you kick out the brake and steer out the lot, speeding up as much as possible. You become aware of the yelling and the rumbles of a half a dozen bikes starting up and coming after you.

_Oh great, (Y/N). You pissed off a biker gang._

Putting the pedal to the medal, _stupid phrase_ , you speed off and attempt to lose them from your tail. After all, you were on a mission with a 3 hour delay.

You eventually get rid of them, weaving in and out of what little traffic there is, and they sooner or later decide that it isn’t worth chasing you across state borders. The only stops you make are to get gas and to use the restroom when necessary. You didn’t want to lose any more time than you already have.

Finally rolling to a stop, you check your watch.

_11:50._

It took forever to get there, unexpected accidents happening in every corner of the freeway that made you later than anticipated.

Dean only had 10 minutes and you had no idea what to do.

You spotted the Impala about half a mile back, and park in the cul-de-sac further down. You figured you could look out for sounds or— _hello, dead bodies._

You hear yelling, men, brothers, and run in the direction of the white home.

Time is ticking and every step you take is another second wasted, so you thrust yourself in through the doors just in time to hear the grandfather clock chime.

Footsteps, slamming door, you follow the faint barks and the grunts of pain.

The smell of sulfur lingers thick in the air and you watch from the corner, the doors rattling from the outside in.

You can’t seem to find another entrance without attracting the hellhounds’ attention, but the doors fling wide open before you could make a move.

“Sic ‘em, boy.”

Eyes wide, you sling yourself forward, and it’s as if everything happens in slow motion.

Standing under the doorway, you watch as Dean gets ripped apart, blood gushing everywhere as his screams deafen your hearing. His clothes and flesh appear as if large meat cleavers just tear right through him, but you know better—you can see the silhouette of the creature on top of Dean, faint yet transparent.

You can just stand and watch _yet again_ as the creatures chew through your eldest brother like a week-old chew toy, feeling your walls go down and your pain spikes up.

You’ve never seen Dean look so scared or helpless.

“No! Stop!” Sam’s voice is muffled in your ears. Your emotions clouding your senses as your fears and emotions build up in you. Turning, you see Lilith with her hand out, attempting to obliterate Sam from eternity.

“Stop it,” you plead quietly as your eyes switch from watching Sam and watching Dean’s body slowly stop twitching.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” You grip your hair tight, your vision narrowing. Your head starts pounding and your whole body violently shakes.

Turning your gaze at Ruby—no, _Lilith_ , you feel your eyes flick black as you suddenly push your shield out as an explosive, tangible force, knocking the vessel out to the floor. You scream at the top of your lungs and from the pit of your gut, wailing like you’ve never done before.

Another feeling fills your body, the feeling of power and strength—like Sam’s ability as well as Lilith. If this is the only opportunity you get, you will take it, black eyes be damned.

You’ve never done it before, but you let your emotions take ahold of your control and watch as Lilith picks herself up from the floor. Hand reached out, you let the power simmer and come out, little by little.

Lilith looks scared, terrified even, as she steps back away from you. She looks up from your hands and into your eyes, afraid of what’s to come.

You scream, yet again, like a banshee and you can faintly hear the whines of hellhounds and glass shattering in the background, and before you could smite the Demon, she smokes out and leaves through the vents.

It takes a few moments to power down, although it feels more like a few hours, but eventually you turn to see Sam on the floor, holding Dean and mourning for him.

All the emotions drain away, and you eventually come to your senses. The pain from Sam and the emptiness from Dean breaks your heart.

You take a step forward and Sam scoots back in fear.

“Stay away from us!”

“Sam—”

Looking into Sam’s eyes, full of tears and fear, you look back down and cry for your eldest brother.

Dean was dead.

It was like reliving the nightmare from when Sam died except roles switched. Another Winchester was mourning, yet again, another Winchester.

Clean up is messy, and the sun was going to rise soon enough that you had to clear out before authorities showed up.

Sam and Bobby carried Dean’s body out to the Impala as you slowly flitted about, dragging your feet across the floor.

_If only you were a few minutes earlier._

_If only you did something when you had the chance._

_If only you distracted the Hellhounds enough to take your soul instead of his._

You vaguely hear the hushed whispers between Sam and Bobby, but you ignore it instead by holding onto Dean in your arms as Sam drives away to an abandoned field.

You try to remember what Dean tells you after the whole Mystery Spot/Trickster debacle, how it’s _“not your fault,”_ and how “ _it’s out of your control,”_ that “ _Dean’s death is imminent.”_

You blame yourself every moment as you watch Bobby and Sam dig up a 6 foot deep grave and gave Dean a properly burial, not a hunter’s funeral.

You vaguely remember a scene like this flashing in your memories.

_Dad’s funeral._

But the images aren’t coming back to you. It’s not the same.

Your lips tremble as your tears collect in the rim of your eyes—it was your fault, _again_.

When you could’ve done something, all you did was freeze.

You watch the wooden box get lowered down, every inch going down, the further away you feel from reality.

Eventually the hole is filled, and the boys pour a drink for the dead Winchester.

You feel like a child again, wishing over and over again that this was a dream, hoping and clicking the heels of your feet repeatedly for Dean to just pop up out of the grave and yell “Surprise!” Like it was just an elaborate joke.

But it’s not.

Bobby drives off first, and you’re still standing there watching the spot where Dean’s body was buried.

You can feel Sam’s apprehension, how he doesn’t want to be near you— _hell, you wouldn’t want to be near you after that mess._

He grips you around the arms and guides you back to the Impala.

You settle down and stare out the window as the scenery flies by until hours later, you find your gaze recognizing the familiar junk yard.

This was it— _the end_.

All of your fears and insecurities came true that night—that your brothers had never really cared for you—not as much as one another at least.

That was evident when Sammy dropped you off onto Bobby’s porch, kissed you on the forehead, murmured something about checking up on you later, and disappeared from your life.

“He’ll be back for you, (Y/N). Just give him time,” Bobby would mutter before snaking back into the door to get another tumbler of rotgut.

But, he never came back.

For the first time in your life, you knew what it truly meant to be scared and alone.

You were definitely. _Not._ A Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, I hope you like it--cause this was DEFINITELY one of the hardest chapters I have written so far.  
> If you like it, or have any questions, just write them out in the comments below, and of course, Kudos are always welcome.  
> I have 3 finals for this semester, but I have a week between the first and the last two ones, so I will definitely have time to write more between and after!  
> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, it really means a lot to me that you enjoy it, as well as follow it. (Almost 400 Kudos, yay!)  
> Anyways, thanks again for reading, see you next time!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were on alert, something that John taught you ever since you could remember, but the burning in your ribs was making it hard for you to concentrate.
> 
> “Fuck,” you spat. You were hunched over in pain, but the sound of shotguns going off made your head shoot up quickly. The lightbulbs ahead shattered above his head, but nothing deters him.
> 
> The man eyes you strangely, but switches his gaze back to Dean as he steps closer.
> 
> “Who are you?” Dean sneers.
> 
> “I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo sorryyy!! I had an extreme case of writer's block, but here is the chapter you have all been waiting for.  
> This chapter is supppperrrrr loong, (5.3k words) and I hope it meets your expectations.  
> Anyways, I'm super happy for all the Kudos and comments I have received, so keep reading readers!  
> Enjoy!!

****

It had been a rough 4 months. You sat quietly and lived like a ghost in Bobby’s home. He tried his best to take care of you, but in the end, it seemed hopeless.

You had nightmares every night but kept quiet about the horrors in your mind.

It was like Dad’s death all over again, and no matter how hard you tried to build up your walls again, there was nothing but dust left behind from the fall.

Living was a struggle, having to deal with people’s thoughts and emotions left and right. All the fear, all the pain, it all crawled and scratched and clawed its way through the very recesses of your soul.

After that night, it seemed like the spike in your power unlocked _something_. Now it wouldn’t stop.

More than a few times did you tighten your grip on your head so much, you thought you could have crushed your own skull with your mere strength and will.

It was hard pushing down the pain of the pounding migraine at least once a day—the pain hurting enough that you could barely keep anything down your throat.

You chose then to just not eat, losing enough weight to see the outlining of your ribs. The scars and your mark were a stark mark against your paled skin.

You hated it.

After the first month, it got harder and harder to block out the thoughts.

Dean abandoned you. Sam abandoned you. Sooner or later, Bobby will realize how much of a burden you are and kick you to the curb.

It’s not like you have been doing anything productive anyways—holing away in the corner of the panic room, hoping that Death will take you soon enough—tired of your mere existence.

Bobby would come down once or twice a day, leaving a tray of food and water at the door.

Once or twice a day, the tray would be left untouched.

More than once did your Mark get infected—more than once did a brittle nail crack or break in your skin while scratching away.

You felt like a meth-addict going through withdrawal, the creepy feeling of bugs crawling all over your ribcage.

You just wanted it to stop.

But every time you scratched away, it was as if the Mark came back faster and darker each time.

The infections hurt, of course. But the tears came more from the fact that the Universe was out to get you with your cursed Mark.

You wanted it _gone_. Even if, by some miracle, you _did_ have a soul mate, he definitely would _not_ want damaged goods such as yourself.

Hunter by trade, Winchester by association. That was still enough to ruin your life.

You were but a shell of who you used to be when it happened.

It was sometime in mid-September when you were sitting in your corner, one hand digging bloody deep into your Mark, while the other was gripping tight in your scalp.

You don’t remember the last time you washed your hair, let alone showered. Clumps of your hair pulled out as you dragged your hand away.

A knock to the Panic Room cellar door was enough to startle you out of your hellish thoughts. You scrambled backwards, _something_ or _someone_ on the other side of the door was projecting awful things, but you were not sure what could get through the iron doors.

You stared wide-eyed at the door as it pulled open slowly. The first sight of familiar green eyes made your heart skip a beat, but the tsunami-sized wave of pain and fear was enough to make you scream at the top of your lungs.

The last thing you heard was your name being called out before your vision faded to black.

You dreamed. You dreamed of viscera and chained hooks. You dreamed of torture and pain and anguish. It all played in your head, but you could not grasp the image through a blurry veil.

Hushed voices disturbed you from your incapacitation, but John Winchester trained you well enough to play unconscious while trying to plan an escape route.

Keeping your ears opened, you listened into the two voices in the room, instantly recognizing both of them. You gasped audibly, cursing under your breathe knowing that you’ve been heard.

It was _Dean_ , but that’s impossible. And Bobby was just talking normally as if it was another fine Sunday dinner.

You kept your eyes shut as you heard footsteps approach, the rustling of canvas and denim at your face level.

“Sweetheart, you up?”

Your eyes opened up involuntarily and against your will, _stupid brain_. Dean’s face was in your line of sight, a soft smile across his face as your eyes watered up slightly.

“You’re dead,” you breathed, words like molasses on your tongue, heavy with misuse.

“I’m back, baby girl.” You flinch at another wave of that _something_. Like, every word that comes out of Dean’s mouth is another surge of whatever it is he’s feeling.

You cover your ears and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to wait out another sudden headache.

You could hear Bobby’s voice faded in the background under the deafening white noise.

“—she’s been like that ever since.”

“—Sam?”

“—Alive… talked to him for months, Dean.”

A whine escapes your throat as the white noise dissipates, but you _swear_ you hear the whisper of your name as the dissonance returns to normal.

“Y/N, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

You shake your head in response, not trusting your voice to work.

Slowly opening your eyes, you look into the familiar green eyes that you remembered so clearly from your nightmares, except these were bright, vibrant, and _alive._

“I just need rest.” You gently cup his face, rubbing your thumb along his cheek before dragging your hand down to his shoulder.

Gasping aloud, you tighten up as the sharp feeling of pain lace along your ribs where your Mark lies. It was as if someone was branding you over and over with molting iron and you had no idea why.

It felt like hours before the pain subsided and you were able to look straight and think clearly. Twin looks of confusion and horror donned both Bobby and Dean’s face but you shake your head to clear away the feelings radiating from them both.

You push yourself up and drag yourself to the panic room, locking the door behind you.

The last thing you needed was more emotions stampeding your already-long-laundry-list of problems.

Sitting down on the edge of the cot, you listen for the sound of echoing footsteps in case they followed. Thankfully, the only footsteps that could be heard were from directly above, meaning that they were still in the den.

You gently pull up your shirt, being careful to not agitate your bandages. You gently peel back the gauze, only to freeze in place.

"What the fuck?" Your Mark healed from your latest assault, but the scars were still riddled across your body.

Whatever. You weren't dealing with that right now.

Readjusting yourself on the cot, you lay down and close your eyes, kind of hoping that this is all a nightmare and will eventually fade away.

Of course, Fate would never have that, and when you wake up to the smell of leather, gun oil and whiskey, your nightmare is alive and still there.

Days pass, and every time you wince in the presence of Dean, covering your ears at the rush of that whatever _it_ is.

"Could you maybe not... _feel_ so loud? It's hurting my head."

Dean chuckles as he silently apologizes with a kiss to your temple.

You bat at him, sitting down at the dining table, nursing a cup of water. Dean was cooking up something for himself when you finally felt like a semblance of yourself to ask what happened.

Over the course of the few days, you finally got the courage and the will to crawl out of your hiding spot and finally attempt to feed and clean yourself.

Dean being there had helped a lot with the process.

“Do you remember?” You asked quietly.

The sound of the scraped metal stopped momentarily, but you knew he had heard you. A pulse of worry came through, and you knew he was debating whether or not to tell you.

“Don’t try to lie to me, De…” The sound of movement continued along with the click of the stove being turned off.

A plate of eggs were placed in front of you before Dean sat in the chair beside you. Looking up, he smirked sadly.

You muttered a thanks as you picked up a fork and pushed around the food.

“Yeah… Yeah, but I don’t want to talk about it, sweetheart.” You nodded solemnly.

_Of course he doesn’t want to talk about it with you._ You flinch from the harsh words running through your head, dragging and digging the heel of your palm into your temples.

Dean just looks at you, trying his best to ignore the obvious problem until you approached him. Instead, he coughed into his fist and asked the inevitable.

“Have you heard from Sammy?” Chewing on your bottom lip, you shake your head in the negative, refusing to let the tears show.

“Nope,” you replied, emphasizing on the ‘p.’ “Haven’t heard from him since… y’know.”

“You’re kidding me? _Fucking idiot._ ”

You had no idea how you were in the presence of Dean. Everything was just consuming your very soul and you had no idea how to handle it, let alone approach it, so you endured.

“We tracked him. We’re going to go find him, Y/N. Do you want to come?”

You place your fork down, food untouched and push away the plate. Your appetite was gone with the wind at this point.

“I, um… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What the hell happened when I was gone?” _Silence._ “Sweetheart?” You chewed on your lip raw, not wanting to relive that moment that you felt your eyes flicker to the shade of darkness—the same shade that was beginning to simmer in your mind and what you felt like was the very depths of your soul.

Huffing in a sick sense of amusement, you shake your head, refusing to let the tears overcome you.

“Nothing, Dean. Nothing happened.” You took a sip of your water before scooting your chair back. Picking up the still-full plate, you walked over to the trash and dumped the food.

“You died and Sam left. He decided to just leave me here. That’s it.” You placed the plate in the sink and let the water flow for a minute.

You jumped a little at the feeling of arms wrapping around your shoulders and bringing you into an embrace.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. If I’d known—”

“It would still be the same. You sold your soul for Sam’s life, De. There’s nothing more to it.”

You gently pulled yourself away, feeling a tight twinge in your stomach. It’s not that you didn’t miss Dean… it was just weird to have him back, alive and breathing and warm.

Not to mention, the dark, looming feeling was still hovering every time you were in proximity of your older brother figure. And to be quite honest, it scared you a little.

“You should go pack, if you’re going to go find Sam.” You leaned on the tips of your toes and kissed him on the cheek before you find yourself back in the panic room.

Moments later, you hear the thumping of heavy boots coming towards the door. Dean opens the door and sits next to you on your cot, the both of your knees knocking against one another.

“Sam’s in Pontiac… the same place where I was buried.” Dean scrubs a hand down his face in frustration as he takes a deep breath. “Bobby and I think he might’ve done something stupid… and I think it would be really good if you came with us, Y/N. If not for Sam, then for me.”

Sighing, you reluctantly nod. You were going to have to confront Sam one way or another, so it might as well be now. Dean plants a firm kiss on the crown of your head as he stands and makes his way towards the door.

“Get packing. We’re leaving in 15.”

For the first time in 4 months, you finally leave Bobby’s home. It’s kind of weird how the sun burns your skin and your eyes, and you’re skittish, looking around for any possible threat and incoming (unwarranted) emotion. You remembered why you stayed inside the panic room for so long.

You shoved earphones in as you cranked up your music, weary of everything that you will be passing by, so you drown it out instead with tunes and not a real life audience blast of feelings.

What is normally an 8 hour drive, Bobby makes it in 6 and a half, and all too soon you’re standing in front of a motel door with a half-naked brunette staring you down.

You cower behind the two men, making yourself as small as possible, because although the girl looks innocent, you feel something dark from inside of her.

Something dark that you are very familiar with.

Within minutes, the exchange between the Winchester brothers is angry, violent, sad and at the same time, something so familiar.

_I mean, it’s not like one of them hasn’t died already._

Bobby stops Sam in time from stabbing his brother, explaining that Dean’s already been checked out. A look of confusion, relief and wonder flash across his face before they turn to each other in an embrace.

Sam still hadn’t noticed you, not yet at least. And if he did, he doesn’t say anything about it.

Dean asks how much it cost to bring him back, but Sam seems genuinely confused. He hadn’t made a deal, despite his best efforts, but no demon wanted to make a deal for the great Dean Winchester.

He was telling the truth.

Bobby and Dean decided that it was best if they stayed in with Sam for the night, and as they walked in, Sam’s look of shock is evident as he sees you standing there.

He looks you up and down, obviously disgusted with what he sees before him. You sheepishly fidget with the sleeve of your jacket until he coughs discreetly. You look up to see a raised eyebrow and he steps back to open the door more.

You shuffle in, making sure to step out of Sam’s way as he closes the door.

It’s weird to be near Sam again. You always loved your brothers in different ways, but your relationship with Sam was always close.

Now, it just feels like you’re stepping on two separate cliffs of the Grand Canyon, and there’s nothing to bring the two of you back together.

You sit as far away as possible, and make yourself small. You don’t want to be there, nor do you think Sam wants you there. So, ignoring the voices in the room, you pull your knees to your chest and cover your ears and shut your eyes, humming quietly under your breath.

Too many people at once around you, the panic room was the best protection for you, and it was becoming a bit overwhelming.

You stop for a minute, long enough for you to hear the word “psychic,” and soon, Dean is whispering in your ear that it was time to go.

Ignoring Sam’s look, you push your way out of the door and towards the parking lot.

Climbing into Bobby’s car, he follows suit and looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. You pull your hood up and buckle in, pushing up against the door as much as possible.

Bobby changes gears and he pulls out of the motel parking lot, the Impala following behind.

It’s a few minutes before Bobby glances your way, brushing a palm against the back of your head.

“Princess?”

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply.

“You doin’ good?” Smiling, you nod in lieu of a verbal response. Sometimes you forget how much of a father Bobby had been to you and the boys until he does things like this and show you affection that would normally look odd from a gruff man such as him.

“Okay, well… if you need anything just… _yeah…”_ You attempt to stifle your giggles, but it comes out anyways, pulling a little smile from Bobby. For the next few minutes, the only sounds that could be heard from within the car is the two of you giggling for no reason at all.

Tears well up in your eyes from laughter and at the same time sadness, but you trek through it regardless of the pain in your heart. And once the laughter stopped, Bobby pats your head a few times before cranking up the radio and driving down the black top towards the psychic.

A few hours later, you were pulling up to a little house in the middle of nowhere. A gorgeous woman opened the door, clad in a CCR tank top, boot cut jeans and black biker boots. Her brown locks curled and shaped her sharp jaws, but the flash in her eyes showed that this woman was not someone to reckon with.

The fierce amount of joy you felt as she saw Bobby and jumped into his arms for a hug made you reel back and take a deep breath. You watched in awe as this small woman briefly lifted up the hunter into the air before placing him down. You failed to hear the sound of the Impala’s doors being shut and the crunch of gravel under the boys’ feet.

“So, these the boys?” You watched as she eyed up Dean and Sam like a piece of meat, seemingly gazing over you. Of course, Dean being the way that he is, fails to _not_ flirt with the woman in front of him… although, she initiates it.

_Ugh. Gross._ You grimace. You do _not_ want to think about Dean and his… _sexcapades._

“You must be Y/N… Bobby’s told me a lot about you.” You shake yourself out of your thoughts and look at the woman in front of you. She tilts your chin up with the point of her finger and smirks at you.

“Hmm… you’re kind of cute. Even if you aren’t a Winchester.”

_Ooh. Ouch._

You still couldn’t help but blush at her bluntness. But who knows, maybe women might be your thing? You haven’t really had the opportunity to go out and get experience… especially growing up with the Winchesters as brothers.

Pamela senses your awkwardness and proceeds to usher the four of you into her home, shutting the door behind her as Bobby asks what she’s heard.

“Well, I Ouija’d my way through a dozen spirits. No one seems to know how broke your boy out, or why.”

Pamela was confused, and scared if her projections said anything about it.

“So, what’s next?” Bobby continues.

“A séance, I think. See if we can see who did the deed.” Even from her statement alone, you didn’t feel as if it was a good idea. Bobby responds before you could protest, and thankfully Bobby feels the same way.

“You’re not gonna… summon the damn thing here.”

“No.” She responds right away. “I just want to get a sneak peek at it. Like a crystal ball without the crystal.”

You roll your eyes as Dean responds in stride.

“I’m game.”

Watching from the corner of the room, you scratch at your ribs through your hoodie while Dean and Sam admire Pamela’s tramp stamp Mark.

_Jesse Forever._

Apparently, it wasn’t forever.

_Fucking soulmates,_ you thought.

At least Pamela didn’t seem too broken up about it.

The flirting continues back and forth, and later the five of you are sitting around a table, six lighted candles in the center.

Sitting between Pamela and Bobby (because you didn’t want to sit next to the brothers) she tells everyone to grab a hold of each person’s hand to their side as she reaches over to touch what the creature had left on Dean.

Apparently the monster didn’t touch his inner thigh.

_Who knew?_ You rolled your eyes in annoyance, but followed her hand to the mysterious hand-shaped brand on Dean’s shoulder. It was the first time you saw it up close, trying your best to ignore that moment at Bobby’s home.

Sighing, you reach over to grab Pamela’s hand, the tip of your fingers touch and a shock runs up and through your arm like static amplified a few notches.

“Ouch,” you pull your hand back, watching as Pamela eyed you cautiously.

She begins to chant, the television flicking on.

“I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.” She repeats this over and over again, a mantra that was beginning to make your head hurt and your ribs sting as if you were being burned.

“Castiel? No. Sorry, Castiel, I don’t scare easy.” Pamela responded to the silence.

“Castiel?” Dean asked.

“Its name. It’s whispering to me, warning me to turn back.”

The static continues, the table begins to shake and the candles on the table flare.

Bobby suggest that the séance should be stopped, but Pamela persists.

“Show me your face now!”

The worry in your gut built up and explodes as Pamela begins to scream. You scream with her, in pain and in fear, as your ribs begin to burn white-hot. But for a moment, a bright flash of white light appears in your line of sight, completely oblivious to the scene beside you as the Psychic’s eyes burst into flame and collapsing to the floor.

Unlike Pamela, the flash of white light disappears into a moment between time and space. You look into this void, filled with a myriad of colours and shades unknown to man, finding yourself face-to-face with this entity before you.

You can’t begin to describe what _it_ is, other than the sheer vastness of its size and power. You feel like you’re floating in the nothingness, looking directly into the crystal-blue eye of this beast that measures larger, in all senses of the word, than your own body.

The white noise is back just like before, but this time you’re positive that it’s your name under it all.

_“Y/N…”_ It’s more like a whisper… a calling.

You find your gaze attracted to the largest set of onyx wings, feathers twice as long as your length, and you watch in awe.

Opening your mouth to respond, you feel your body being pulled back, sucked through the vortex and out of the void back to reality. You feel the rush going through your entire body and gasp heavily as you find yourself back in Pamela’s den.

The Psychic is still on the floor, Bobby quickly getting out of his seat to tend to his friend.

“Sam! Call 9-1-1!”

Looking at the scene before you, you realize that in that moment that felt like hours, it had only been a split second in your own time.

Within seconds, that memory flitted to the back of your mind, and you jumped out of your chair to help the woman, moments prior getting lost as time passes.

You can hear the sirens in the background, and you furiously blink away the tears and the pain. The burning in the back of your eye sockets persists, but you endure.

You remember why you stayed in the Panic room.

Pamela rides in the ambulance, Bobby’s car and the Impala not far behind. The whole time, you find yourself distracted.

For some reason you feel like you’re forgetting something—like a moment was completely washed from your mind, and it’s niggling. Hard.

Bobby parks in the emergency lane, and your feet drag and feel like stones as you rush in the hospital. You try your best to concentrate, but for some reason your mind is somewhere else.

It takes hours in surgery while you wait with Bobby. Sam and Dean left to a diner, looking for burgers and pie, but the mere thought of food turned your stomach into knots regardless of the growling and churning.

You curl up in your seat as Bobby paces back and forth, while chewing on your thumb nail. Continuing your attempt at worrying, your attempt to recall the blank memory fails and it causes your migraine to flare up as well as your empathic abilities.

The dread, the pain and the fear within the hospital was enough to cause anyone else to run, but you refused to budge. You couldn’t stand the thought of being dragged along anywhere with Sam now by Dean’s side. Again.

As you chewed your thumb raw, you tried remembering why you missed the panic room.

That is until a doctor approaches and calls out for Barnes’ family. Apparently Bobby is the uncle and you’re her favorite niece, which is enough to disclose that Pamela is stable and in the I.C.U. for recovery.

The two of you sigh in relief and Bobby pulls you into an embrace.

“That was a close call…” _Another sigh._ “Let me call the boys. They’re probably waiting for the call, okay Princess?” You shrug and pull away, walking the opposite direction of Bobby Singer as he pulls out his cell phone to update the Winchesters.

You find your way through a different floor of the hospital, stumbling across the glass doors of the Pediatric ward and the colourful designs and shapes decorating the rooms.

Stepping through, you see a giant play room filled with children running around and playing with the toys provided. Your eyes zone in on a little boy and little girl sitting on the floor, passing toy blocks between one another. The high-contrast color bandanas on both of their heads don’t escape your attention, but the feeling you get from being in the room alone elevates your spirits.

“It’s amazing how the Universe works.” You startle a bit as a kind-looking nurse approaches you.

“Jake and Suzie. Soulmates. He’s 7 and she’s only 5. And to think they would find their destined ones in the children’s oncology ward. It’s a shame, really… but they make one another better. Test results alone improved within a week of being near one another.”

You nod in wonder.

_It’s great for them,_ you think. _Too bad it’s not that cut and dry for others,_ your thoughts add bitterly.

Opening your mouth to respond, your phone interrupts with a loud ring.

“Excuse me,” you mutter apologetically. The nurse just smiles gently before walking away with her charts.

“Y/N, where are you?” Bobby grumbles through the speaker. He sounds pissed, but you knew better. He was worried like the old fart that he was.

Rolling your eyes, you huff. “Outside Pediatrics.”

“What the hell are you doing over there? Get your ass back to the parking lot, we’re meeting the boys at the hotel.”

_Dial tone._

“Old geezer.” You stick your tongue out a bit childish-like at your phone before going towards the stairs.

It’s dark out when you climb into the Chevelle. Bobby’s car is a little rusty, but it runs in good shape, and it kind of reminds you of your short-lived freedom and the little beauty that was left in the storage unit.

Maybe you’ll go back for it later.

Bobby rolls to a stop out in the motel parking lot, but the heavy pressure in your ribs comes back. Climbing out, you can hear Dean’s screams from the room, and you start up on a run. There’s a familiar white noise somewhere nearby, and it makes you think of _something_ , but you can’t remember.

Your father figure follows close behind, but he pulls you behind him at the door before busting it down with his foot.

“Dean!” Bobby shouts as the ceiling lights, as well as the glass windows, shatter into a million little pieces. The older man drags your brother figure out of the room as you lead out into the parking lot and jumping behind the wheels.

Slamming on the accelerator, the tires screech and a cloud of smoke leaves the exhaust, but sooner rather than later the motel is but a distant memory getting smaller and smaller as you drive further down the road.

“How you doin’, kid?” Dean wipes the blood off his face, an incredulous look on his face.

“Aside from the church bells ringing in my head, _peachy._ ” Dean pulls out his phone and dials a number. Distantly, you hear the conversation going on between Sam and Dean, but you keep your eyes forward and keep driving.

“…He just tried to stop us.”

“From what?”

“Summoning this thing… it’s time we faced it head-on.”

Head-on it was, and without Sammy, it was just another night on the road.

The warehouse had long-been abandoned if the overgrowing grass and endless lines of cobweb told any sort of story.

It took time, but with the arsenal unloaded and the spray cans out and ready, every person went around and painted any and every warding symbol known to their knowledge.

Once everything was ready, you stood behind and hung back, letting Dean and Bobby hash out their own thing. You could feel the edginess and the tinge of fear hanging from a thread from both men.

You hopped on top of the table, legs swinging and facing the double doors. Picking at your nails, you concentrated on that blank memory. Although your hunter instincts tell you that everything points to something evil, in your _heart_ you felt something else. Warmth, longing.

It was now just a long waiting game.

Before long, the warehouse starts to shake, the roof rattling on loose hinges. The door busted open, a man clad in a business suit and an oversized trench coat striding through with nothing but a purpose.

You were on alert, something that John taught you ever since you could remember, but the burning in your ribs was making it hard for you to concentrate.

_“Fuck,”_ you spat. You were hunched over in pain, but the sound of shotguns going off made your head shoot up quickly. The lightbulbs ahead shattered above his head, but nothing deters him.

The man eyes you strangely, but switches his gaze back to Dean as he steps closer.

“Who are you?” Dean sneers.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

_Whoa. His voice._ It sent a little spark through you and you weren’t sure as to why. Shaking your head and your hands out from the pain, you quickly stand beside Dean, on the ready.

Your eyes go wide as the Demon-killing knife goes clean through the man’s heart, but he remains unfazed. He looks down at the hilt and pulls it out without a blink giving Bobby enough time to swing from behind. The man then turns around and stops the weapon mid-swing, then touches two fingers to Bobby’s forehead, causing him to fall to the floor.

You leave your post and attempt to run to your father figure, but the man’s arm rounds out and grabs you around the waist bringing you face to face with the mysterious creature.

_He looks human…_ the _man_ eyes you strangely as if he had heard your thoughts. _His eyes… that colour…_ A memory flashes through your mind and you scream at the sudden pain in your head.

“Y/N,” the man quietly murmurs. You try to pull away, but in that moment, the man places his two fingers on your forehead and your world tumbles limply into his arms, the colour of an ethereal blue lingering on your mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you had a happy holidays, and I hope you accept this gift from me to you.  
> If you enjoyed it, Kudos and Comments are much appreciated, but it not, that's fine, too.  
> I'll work on the next chapter soon, but for now I wish you a Happy New Years!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was a blur after that.
> 
> Witnesses, Cas called it. Well, according to Dean anyway. You hadn’t seen the Angel since that night in the barn (sadly). Regardless, Dean said that the Angel came to him in a dream and explained as to why you all were left without the angelic assistance.
> 
> “Bigger things afoot,” Dean imitated with the gruff voice making you giggle into your hand.
> 
> Your giggles cease the moment the eldest brother explains the coming of the Apocalypse. The End of Times. The Witnesses were just another key, a seal, working towards releasing Lucifer from his cage.
> 
> All you know is that you knew shit was going to hit the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, I'm so sorry! It's been so long! I want to thank you guys for all the Kudos and Comments, they have seriously been motivating. I've just been suffering from writer's block, as well as having no time. School has been a bitch lately, and taking 20 hours, in retrospect, was a mistake, haha. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, I really wasn't happy with it, but I figured something out for you was better than having you guys waiting on your toes!  
> So I hope you guys enjoy the nearly 5k chapter!

Waking up, it felt as if you were emerging for air for the first time after spending a week underwater. Instead, it was only a few hours and the early rays of sunshine were gleaming in your face through Bobby’s shabby curtains.

Blinking through the light, you rubbed at your eyes and sighed softly. You weren’t sure if what happened was a dream, or if it was real, but something was distracting you from your train of thought. In the background, you could hear hushed argument, and judging from the vibe, there was a lot of denial and self-doubt—something you weren’t so unfamiliar with.

“Why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?”

You could feel your face contort in desperation. Never in your life have you once understood why Dean thought the way that he did.

Sure, he was a dick at times, but he was one of the most caring, more selfless individuals that you have known in your short lifetime.

“Hey.”

Startled, you look up to see Sam awkwardly hanging around the door frame. That was the first thing he had said to you in the past 3 days, and honestly it hurt. It hurt a lot.

You could feel the tension thick in the air, and before you could open your mouth to respond similarly, the man turns on his heel and walks out the door.

Your mood is positively deflated now and now your chest hurts for a different reason. Sam couldn’t stand to be near you, but you missed him with everything you were. But if Sam wanted space, you would respect his wishes.

Pulling your legs off the side of the couch, you stand and shuffle to the other room where Dean and Bobby were researching, and without a word, you sit and pull a book towards you. Despite not knowing what to read on, you kept reading.

Odd looks and few words were exchanged over the course of an hour, until you hear the familiar purr of the Impala outside. Bobby and Dean stand up and rush over to the door, you following close behind.

Dean turns around last minute as you walk through the threshold and stops you with both hands on your shoulder.

“I need you to stay here and hold down the fort, okay Sweetheart?”

“But—”

“No but’s, Y/N. You’re still too weak, and this might be big.”

Reluctantly, you nod. Dean slaps a kiss on your forehead and then rushes down to the Impala, Bobby waiting in his car.

You watch the dirt kick back as they drive off before going back in and going back to research.

Hours pass when you hear it.

_Creak._

Eyes shooting up, you look around your surroundings.

_Nothing._

_Creak._

Standing up quietly, you look around for a weapon. Fireplace.

_Iron pick, great._

You walk through the threshold into the kitchen where you’re met with a ghastly couple, old and aged and weathered away. Their face, their clothes and their bodies are all burnt and left in rags, but you’re on the ready; that is until they speak.

“Who are you?”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Don’t you recognize your _Mommy_ and _Daddy_?” Eyes wide, you swing at their apparitions just in time for your phone to start ringing.

You watch wide-eyed as the ghosts dissipate into a wisp of smoke, vaguely aware of the ringing in the background. Shaking yourself out of you shock, you hurry your way to the den where your phone lay.

Pressing the answer button, you frantically call out who was on the other side.

“De! De!?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa Sweetheart. What’s the matter?”

“I saw them! _I_ _saw them._ But _how!?_ They’re _dead!_ ” You could hear Dean cursing into the phone.

“Okay, Y/N. Calm down, and tell me what happened. But first, are you in the den?”

You nod your head, too shaken up to speak, despite the fact that Dean cannot see you.

“I need you to use your words for me, baby girl. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes. Yes, I’m in the den. But, De—”

“No buts, Y/N. I need you to go to the cabinet next to Bobby’s desk, bottom left drawer. There should be a container of salt. You know the drill.”

You rush over, making sure to keep the doors closed, quickly finding the can of salt and going over the cracks of the surrounding doors, making sure to _not_ leave a break in the line.

After the doors were sealed, you picked up your phone somehow abandoned on the ground in the frenzy.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Dean screamed through the speakers.

“I’m here. I just salted the doors, De. But why are they here? How did they find me!?”

 _“Y/N…”_ A voice called out in creepy sing-song. “You can’t stay in there forever. We _will_ make you pay.” You whimpered when you saw the door shake on its locks, the sound of pounding on the other side travelling through the wood and the cracks.

“After all, _you’re_ the reason why we’re dead!”

You could feel all the pain and the hatred coming from the ghosts in the other room. Your heart felt like it was about to burst, but you never voiced your pleas to your parents. The only thing you wanted to do right now was to curl up and to ignore the world around you. And right then, you did just that. Blocking the world out around you, dropping and ignoring the sound of Dean’s voice through your phone, you sat in the corner by the fireplace and covered your ears, waiting for the Winchesters to come and save your ass. Again.

Everything was a blur after that.

 _Witnesses,_ Cas called it. Well, according to Dean anyway. You hadn’t seen the Angel since that night in the barn ( _sadly)._ Regardless, Dean said that the Angel came to him in a dream and explained as to why you all were left without the angelic assistance.

 _“Bigger things afoot,”_ Dean imitated with the gruff voice making you giggle into your hand.

Your giggles cease the moment the eldest brother explains the coming of the Apocalypse. The End of Times. The Witnesses were just another key, a seal, working towards releasing Lucifer from his cage.

All you know is that you knew shit was going to hit the fan.

You refuse to talk about that night, continuing on like the signs of the imminent Apocalypse didn’t exist.

Things were spiraling out of control for you, but you trekked on, refusing to let yourself succumb to the pain in your heart over the absent Angel, especially when he seemed to give Dean relentless attention.

Sam and Dean tried getting you to come out to the hunts they were on, but you kindly refused. You didn’t want to tell anyone, but you felt your powers getting stronger and more out of control, so you decided to hole up in Bobby’s.

You helped in research when you can, but slowly reverted back to your old ways before Dean came back. Similarly, you screened the brothers’ phone calls, answering once in a while to let them know you were alive, but generally letting them leave a voicemail that you may or may not listen to.

Dean was allegedly sent back in time (it all happened so fast) to the time and reason of his, as well as Sam’s, mother’s death. A demon deal made with Azazel for the life of John Winchester and a night alone in the nursery of one Sam Winchester.

You’re kind of glad that you didn’t go all _Back to the Future_ on your life.

Dean calls one night, concern and heartbreak etched into his voice. From what? You don’t know. He catches you up on the Rugaru that you missed out on, but the other half of the voicemail is what catches you.

 _“Y/N… it’s Sammy. He’s… He’s not doing so good and… agh, never mind. Forget I said anything… Hope you’re taking care of yourself, baby girl.”_ Click.

You’re glad you miss out on their next hunt. After all, you were still considered underage when it came down to the restrictions of drinking and Oktoberfest. You still couldn’t help but giggle a little when you listened to Sam and Dean arguing over the voicemail over who got wrecked by Dracula and who didn’t.

It had been about a week and a half after the Witnesses when Bobby came stumbling through the iron doors of the panic room.

“Dean. He’s in trouble.” You drop whatever it is you’re doing and rush through the door, ignoring your wobbling knees and the rush of blood going straight to your head.

The drive goes by quickly, but you just barely stop yourself from running out of the still-moving car and into Sam’s arms. Of course he wouldn’t want you near him, especially with Dean so close to death.

You quietly ask Bobby for his keys, making an excuse to go watch after Dean, to which he agrees. Once out of the car, you look up to see Sam standing from his spot on Baby, approaching closely to Bobby’s and trying his hardest to ignore you. Pain amplifies your chest, and you feel a force suspending from the spot where you were standing.

Sam’s eyes snap to yours when an old, empty beer bottle shatters near your feet.

Ignoring the tears, you push passed him, your shoulder knocking into his elbows sticking out from his hands in his pockets.

Quickly climbing into Bobby’s car, you wait for his trunk to slam shut before you quickly shift the gears to reverse out and then forward, leaving the Impala out of your sight.

You couldn’t bear another awkward moment next to the man who you used to think of as a brother.

Eventually, the ghost sickness that was plaguing the eldest Winchester was lifted and the first thing Dean did was grip you tight. No words were needed.

Halloween was approaching and fast. You stuck with the brothers, at Dean’s request of course, but things were not any less awkward. They knew, as well as you, that your powers were getting out of control again. Every time Sam made you upset, lightbulbs would shatter and windows would crack. To avoid any other catastrophes, you were working on cooling off by taking walks around the block whenever need.

If he wasn’t going to try, you don’t want it. You don’t need it.

You walked back into the motel after a particularly bad moment with Sam only to see the brothers packing their things.

“De…?” You whispered, “What’s going on?” He looked up from shoving his toiletry bag and a folded shirt into his bag.

“Caught wind of a case not too far from here. Guy dies by razor blades.” Eyebrow arched, you retorted with, “People die from razors all the time.”

“Not from coughing them up.”

“Oh…” Quietly, you sigh as you head over to the couch where your duffle bag lied, packing everything you own, which wasn’t much.

Climbing into the Impala, you shoved in your earplugs and watched the road pass by you as the Impala flew further into the realms of bum-fuck-nowhere.

Once you reach the Wallace’s house, Sam and Dean act as FBI, as usual. You act as an intern, learning the ways of the force, and as you listen into the interview, Dean finds a hex bag.

_Witches, figures._

Turned out that whoever you were dealing with was working some serious magic.

Another one bites the dust. A high school cheerleader trying to bob for apples ended up the one bobbing in the water. Drowned with major signs of burns on her face and neck, it was as if someone scalded her with boiling water. 

Sam found another hex bag within the couch cushions.

 _Samhain,_ obviously. Whatever witch was terrorizing the streets knew what they were doing. Three sacrificial offerings over the course of three days, all so they can see Samhain’s pretty, little face again after spending eternity in the pit.

Naturally, the day of the summoning, which only occurs every 600 years, happened to land on Halloween. _Naturally._

You and Sam were left on research duty while Dean stuffed himself with candy and staked out the Wallace’s home.

_Ding, ding, ding. We’ve got ourselves a lucky winner._

Tracy, the cute, slutty cheerleader. Once Dean comes back from recon, information gets hashed out, and within minutes, the boys were ready to go out again, but wordlessly, you were left in the motel.

 _Crack_. There goes the TV.

Hours go by, silent and uneventful minus the pangs of emotions and thoughts that bombarded you every chance they got.

Not the mention the little adventure the couple upstairs had an hour prior.

You shuddered at the thought. You _never_ wanted to experience that again.

A strange sound filled the air that made you sit still in your seat, unmoving as you silently went for your handgun. You could feel your Mark burning through your shirt, not knowing why.

“Don’t bother,” a deep voice fills the air. You twirl out of your seat, gun aimed at the two figures in your sight.

 _“Castiel,”_ you breathe. The man— _no, Angel_ —barely spared you a glance. A sharp pain struck your heart, but you ignored it. You dropped your hand, leaving the gun limp by your side.

“What do you want?” The dark skinned man, who you presumed was an angel also, was faced towards the window, but his voice echoed throughout the room.

“Bite your tongue, girl. It’s not any of your concern.” You step back, fear and _something_ sparking through you. At that moment, you could hear the jingling of keys coming from the front door.

“Who are you!?” Sam comes barging in, gun at the ready. Dean comes following quickly, stopping Sam from firing.

“It’s Castiel,” he explains. “The angel.” He mentions not knowing the fifth figure standing in the room.

“Hello, Sam.” Your Mark itched, and you felt a twinge of sadness that it wasn’t your name coming out of his mouth. He has yet to acknowledge your presence.

You were used to it, anyways.

You shoved the gun into the band of your jeans behind your back, rolling your eyes as Sam stuttered, apologizing for threatening the angel. He steps forward, making sure to side step out of your way before holding out his hand for a shake.

You slowly walk away to stand off to the side, shaking slightly for reasons unknown to you.

The men talk amongst themselves, about the witch and Samhain.

Apparently she had her eyes on the boys, too. _How?_ You didn’t know. Your eyes go wide as Castiel lifts a hex bag, explaining that it was in the walls of your room.

“Surely one, or all of you, would be dead.”  

 _I wish it worked,_ you thought to yourself. You ignored the sudden attention coming from the blue-eyed angel, as his eyes snap to the side and gaze right into yours.

Still, you silently back up off to the side, listening as the brothers, Castiel, and _Uriel,_ you learned his name was, argued between the destruction of the city, as well as the death of the witch.

Your head starts to hurt, they talk too much and everything was getting to you, filling you again with the feelings that you tried so hard to run from.

Without realizing it, you were squatting on the floor, hair gripped tight in your hands and you hummed quietly under your breath.

The lightbulb on one of the bedside tables shattered. So, quickly, you got up and walked out the door, Samhain, Seals, Lucifer and the Hunt be damned.

If Uriel was going to bomb the place, let him. You would gladly go with the rest of the town.

You bundle yourself up in the thin hoodie you were wearing, oblivious to the elements outside until you stepped out. Walking the short block towards the park, you sat down on one of the swings and sighed, kind of regretting your childish tantrum and walking out.

Not moments later did you feel the shift in the air as well as the rustling of what you assumed were wings. You startle a little when you look in the corner of your peripheral, absently scratching at your ribs.

“You’re cold.” The burning of your Mark causes a shiver to run through your whole body, warming you up slightly.

“What do you want, Castiel?” You bite, but the angel seemed unfazed.

“Your powers are getting stronger,” he states.

“What an astute observation. What does it matter to you?”

“Surely you do not believe that Heaven would be so unkind as to ignore your… _situation_ , given Sam Winchester’s history?” You scoff in turn.

“I don’t know _what_ I believe in. I just want it to stop.” You rub at your temples, willing the oncoming headache to go away. “If you’re just going to rub _my_ Demon blood in my face, then just go away. I don’t need to know that I’m another failure,” you sigh.

 _“Ah,”_ you hiss as you scratch at your burning mark.

“What’s wrong with your ribs?” You side-eye the Angel, deflect his question with one of your own.

“So what’s the sitch, Feathers?” You try your utmost best to not react to that puppy head tilt of his. “What’s the happening with Chuckles and the Winchesters?”

“They’ve decided. Tonight, they will try to save the rising of Samhain.” You nod solemnly, figuring that was what the brothers would decide.

The pair of you sit in your swings in silence, both just looking out at the sparse kids littered around the jungle gyms. A few minutes pass when you hear the telltale rumble of the Impala. Sam’s eyes drag over you from behind the glass window while Dean was preoccupied with the task at hand. They drive on by. You, left unnoticed.

Your heart still aches at the thought of Sam hating your very existence. Even though you two are more similar in ways that anyone else can say otherwise, he still looked at you like the piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Sighing to yourself, your gaze goes down back to your own worn boots. You were going to have to go shopping again sometime soon.

“Your relationship with Sam will get better, Y/N.” Looking at Castiel, you scowled.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Angel” you spat. “Keep your beak out of my business.” With a kick, you were out of the swing and making your way down to the lake where you saw signs pointing towards. It was one thing to have issues with Sam, it’s another thing when a fairy from Heaven makes it public.

Kicking a rock to the bank, you look out at the water. You finally allow the tears you’ve been holding back for so long to fall as you look out at the peaceful surface.

 _Peaceful_ , heh. Something that had long since been gone from your grasp.

Time passes, as you watch the sun set across the horizon. You were sat on a giant alone with your thoughts when you heard the quickly-becoming-familiar noise of wings. You felt and quickly ignored the fluttering in your chest, keeping yourself composed.

“What do you want, Feathers?” You turn your head to see both Uriel with Castiel standing off by the grass line.

“It’s time, Y/N. I suggest you make haste to the crypts at the local cemetery.”

“Why?” You scoffed. “So I can be useless to the Winchesters once again? No, thank you.”

You felt a charge in the air, a thick tension as Castiel’s voice boomed into your very soul.

“The Winchesters care deeply for you. Are you really going to be a foolish, _petty_ child and leave them in danger?”

“Don’t get all righteous with you, you _dick!_ It’s not like they need me.”

“They’re your brothers.” You guffawed at that statement.

“Tell _them_ that. They could give a rat’s ass about me, so _fuck off_.” At this point, the two of you were face-to-face, ready to attack.

“Leave the mud monkey, Castiel. She obviously does not know where her loyalties lie, let alone her priorities.” With a flap of his wings, Uriel was gone.

“Listen to Chuckles, _Ass_ tiel. Leave me alone.” Your mark burned with a vengeance, but you ignored the stupid thing.

Before you could turn around, Castiel brought up two fingers and placed them to your forehead.

You lurched forward, feeling a displacement of the ground when you found yourself in a dank mausoleum. Music and voices brought your attention to a cellar with a bunch of kids drinking and smoking.

Confused, you stepped in to see them dancing and not caring in the world that a random individual stumbled through. You tried to ask someone where you were, if they weren’t startled at first, when they heard the sound of heavy footsteps.

You turn around to see a man covered in blood, pale skin and eerie, yellow eyes. Either there was something wrong, or that dude had an amazing costume.

But, the evil that was coming off of him in waves terrorized you to the very core.

“Mr. Harding? _I mean,_ Don?” You watch in terror as the man slowly closes the door in on the confined space. You can feel the air leaving your lungs, the walls coming in closer to you, and your chest begins to feel heavy.

“Don. You, uh… locked us in.” The boy tried budging the door, only to come up with nothing. You can feel the panic rise from every individual in the room, your head was spinning, and the walls were shaking. Literally.

Cracks appear throughout the epitaphs, gnarled, decaying arms reaching out and grabbing at the young ones.

The fear running through your body, as well as the children amps up your hunter mode and you back all the kids away from the walls, pulling out the gun from your waistband, silently thanking God that you hadn’t forgotten about it.

You raised your arm and shot at one of them, screams echoing through the graves as you hear two distinct, familiar voices.

“Y/N!” You look behind your shoulder to see Dean and Sam running down the stairs.

“Help them!” Sam goes running off after Don, who you assumed now to be Samhain.

“Sweetheart!?”

“Dean! Help them out!”

“Stand back!” You could feel some individuals grabbing onto your shirt, scared with the turn of events. You couldn’t really blame them.

Two shots rang through the air, and Dean swung the doors open, ushering the teenagers out. You stayed your ground and fired at any incoming zombies.

“Go on, come on! Get out! Move!” Dean stepped forward, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you behind him.

The two of you watch as the marble plates fall from their spots, dead ancestors crawling their way out of their graves. Dean pulls off his backpack, reaching in to dig out silver stakes and you follow his lead.

Undead after undead, you manage to kill several, until one flickers in and out. A ghost. It was time for Plan B: torching the place down.

The two of you managed to start a fire, then you followed Dean to where he thought Sam was. You were a few steps behind, managing to run into Dean’s solid back as he stopped suddenly. Looking around his shoulder, your heart dropped.

Sam was using demonic powers.

The Evil that was surging throughout the room, you couldn’t tell if it was from Samhain or from Sam, but it didn’t matter to you now.

You were betrayed.

Taking one step back, two, then another, you couldn’t bear to be in the room as him. So, you ran and ran.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice echoed through the corridors, but you ignored it as tears filled your eyes.

How could Sam do that to you? You couldn’t care less anymore.

The hotel was far, but you managed to get there right before hearing the rumble of the Impala not far behind. You were tired, you ached, and your chest heaved as your eyes burned with a far larger amount of tears than you’ve already shed. But you didn’t have the energy for that, nor did you want to waste it on someone as vile and cruel as Sam Winchester.

“Y/N!” You were making your way inside the room, picking up things that you could find were yours. There was no way you could stay with them now.

“Baby girl, can you just stop and think about this?” Dean came up behind you as you were shoving things into your bag. He tugged at your arm and you turned around, pulling yourself away. You didn’t want to be anywhere near the two of them.

“Get _off_ of me,” you growled. “There’s _nothing_ to think about, Dean. You _knew._ You knew and you never told me.” The waves of guilt and regret were rolling off of Dean, and looking over his shoulder, you saw Sam step through the door frame, gaze on the floor.

“How could you do this to me? Both of you? And Sam, you _bastard._ ” You stood your ground, but it was getting harder with every passing second. “This whole time, I thought it was me doing something wrong. But it clearly wasn’t.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about” he retorted. The flame in your very belly ignited full force.

“ _Excuse me!?”_ You stepped forward, making yourself look and feel taller than you actually were. Next to the Moose, you were still tiny, but you lifted your nose and glared right into his eyes.

“Who are you to tell me whether or not I know? I _watched_ you, Samuel Winchester. And after all that bullshit with Dean? You still want to sit there and tell me I don’t know?” You shoved him as hard as you could.

“Dean _died!_ ” You stepped forward and swung with a left hook, Sam flinching back at the blow. “He fucking _died_ and I needed you the most!” Right hook. “Instead you dropped me off at Bobby and treated me like a freak for something _I couldn’t control_.” Left hook. “I wanted to die every single day because of this, but you still—you left me to die like a fucking dog.” You swung once more, tears streaming down and your voice hoarse from your cries.

Sam stood back to his full height, brushing off the blood from his busted lip with the back of his hand, you felt the shame coming from Sam, but it didn’t deter you.

“That’s not even a _fraction_ of a _percent_ of what you deserve, Winchester.”

“I couldn’t control my powers, but that night. I saw how much you hated me at that moment. The fear that ran through you because of my _curse_ , and I can’t erase it from my mind. But this whole time, you’ve been using your powers like some God given talent. Powers you can _control_. You’re a fucking hypocrite Sam, and I feel so sorry for you. This whole time you were scared of what I was, but now I know. You’re just scared of becoming what I am. Scared, alone. I can’t even walk out without fearing the world, looking-glass self and all. I’m not the freak, Sam. You are.”

Pounding came from the wall of the adjoining room next door, and you could hear the faint voice yelling something about not being the only one trying to sleep. Any other circumstance, you would’ve laughed, but with the rushing in your ears, you ignored it. You focused all your hatred and your animosity towards the man in front of you, but you barely just held back the force field.

If anything, Sam was probably immune to it or some shit like that.

“In retrospect, all you and I ever had was a shared childhood. That’s _it._ It makes me wonder if any of it was ever real.” You scoffed. “I know I will never be one of you.” You could feel your voice about to crack, but you carried on. “You used to be my big brother, but you broke my heart and now we’re nothing. We’re through.”

Screw everything else. You weren’t going to go on a search for the rest of your stuff, so you turned towards the bed and heaved your bag onto your shoulder. Dean stood there, dumbfounded at what just happened, but he understood.

You were leaving, and there was nothing either of the boys could do about it unless God intervened.

Storming off to the door, you swung it wide open to run face first into a trench coat-clad Angel. Before you could shove him out of the way, Castiel placed his hand on your cheek. Your limbs stopped working, and your eyes began to roll as you fell into the darkness.

_Figures._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, that was hard. I hope and thank you guys for understanding that I've been very busy lately, and struggling with putting my thoughts on paper, so I don't want to say I will update soon and give you false hope.  
> But thank you for your Kudos and Comments, they really do mean a lot to me!
> 
> I will post when I can!  
> Peace out, bitches! ♥


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I know!  
> I'm a bad, bad, BAD person! I apologize so much for not updating. School had been hectic--I'm on my Spring Break, and I've just been trying to keep myself busy--and binge-watching Buffy... I had 5 exams last week, and I was just going and going like Thomas the Freaking Choo-Choo Train.  
> This chapter is rather short and really nothing, so I really apologize!

The brothers were acting very skittish as of late, more so than usual, as if they were hiding something. You never asked whenever they were like this, since being troubled was a primary, albeit debilitating, trait that they both shared.

The three of you were heading to Concrete, Washington for another case. Apparently a ghost was terrorizing the women’s locker room.

 _That_ definitely got Dean’s attention.

_“Women. Showers. We’ve got to save these people.”_

Now _that_ earned an eye roll from both you and Sam.

Typical Dean.

On the car ride, your thoughts wandered to the feathered _dick_ called Castiel. You didn’t think much of it, since he was still an asshole, but you hadn’t seen him since he dropped you off into those disgusting crypts. You don’t think you could ever forgive him for that. Despite everything after that seemed to come up blank. Nonetheless, you were still unforgiving.

Dean said that the quakes that Samhain conjured had caused a marble plaque to fall on your head, causing you to black out. Shrugging, you just accepted it at face value. Not like a concussion isn’t part of the perks of hunting.

After all, there was no reason for them to lie to you.

Right?

When you get to Washington, you follow up on the lead. A ghost pushing a lady down the stairs and then apologizing. Bigfoot. That was definitely the icing on the cake.

Bigfoot: apparently a 6 and a half feet tall, alcoholic, bipolar Teddy Bear with a porno addiction. It took all your strength to not laugh out loud right then and there.

Audrey, the little girl, was your biggest clue though.

The wishing well. The ‘rents wished to be in Bali, so therefore…

You guessed that: more than likely, Mr. Teddy Bear was not your main concern.

_So much for burning it._

But, _of course_ the wishing well would be in a Chinese restaurant, and _of course_ Dean would wish for some kind of food, but the mysterious coin in said well would not budge.

It was time for some research.

You stuck to the hotel room, trying to look up anything about the coin while both Sam and Dean went off on their own to scope out any more clues on the case.

Half an hour later, Dean stormed in, clutching his stomach and groaning in pain. Stumbling into the bathroom, he started to retch.

“ _Gross_ , Dean!”

“Fuck off!”

 _Bingo._ But first, taking care of Dean.

You found that the coin was cursed, an Ancient Babylonian relic that was created in tribute to Tiamat. Where one wish is granted, all wishes were granted, but they turn bad. _Really bad_. Which explains Dean’s sudden case of _E. coli_.

But what if the wish was already bad? How much worse could it get?

Deciding to call it a day, you go to sleep. You go through the night dreaming your own wishes coming true, all while ignoring the fear, the pain and the anger that was seeping into your dreams.

The next morning, there’s some kind of tension in the room, but it doesn’t get in the way of the case.

“You coming with us, (Y/N)?” You give a shy smile and shake your head.

“You guys go ahead. I’m going do some more research.” Dean’s eyebrow went up in suspicion, obviously onto you.

“You sure?”

“Mhmm. Go get this guy.” Dean walks over, leaning down and planting a kiss on your crown before the two leave to stop this _“Wesley”_ guy.” You wait for a few minutes before you grab a quarter off of Dean’s bedside and rushing out the door.

What’s one wish compared to another 5 minutes of the Magic Fingers?

It wasn’t like Dean needed it.

_Just think of it as an intervention, (Y/N)…_

You finally arrive to Ching’s, stepping forward tired and hot, since you opted to walk the distance instead of boosting a car. It gave you time, a little too much actually, to think about your decision.

Despite the wrong feeling about it, you thought long and hard, and you decided. You wanted this.

 _Deep breathe_ , you rolled the quarter between your fingers.

“Here goes nothing,” you muttered to yourself.

You place your hand over the water, ready to drop when a woman rushes into the restaurant, practically throwing herself at the well. Watching the coin get dropped in, you startle at the call of your name.

“(Y/N)!” Quickly, you turn around just in time to see Sam get struck by lightning, and you scream.

Within a blip of a second, you look around confused. Sam wasn’t in front of you, and you weren’t in Ching’s. You weren’t exactly sure of where you were, but it looked familiar. You remembered this feeling, floating in the void, but _something_ was missing. Something big was supposed to be right there according to the biggest hunch.

Second by second, or whatever the relative time was, your previous life was slowly erasing from your mind. You felt at peace here, the tranquility of the emptiness you were drifting through was slowly filling your mind and your soul.

There was a tugging at your heart, though. You felt tears slip down your cheek and you wiped them away. You just lost someone, but you didn’t know who, and slowly you were beginning to not care until the tugging became real.

_“(Y/N)? Sweetheart, wake up.”_

You looked around in confusion. Your name was (Y/N), but there was no one here other than you.

_“I need you to wake up for me, please? Oh God, don’t leave us.”_

A flash of light blinded you for a second, but you tried grounding yourself. This place was, for some reason, paradise. For the first time in what you felt was forever, for reasons unbeknownst, everything just seemed to be in place.

 _“Dean, what do we do?”_ You hear the echoes getting closer, and paired with another quick burst of light, you try your best to ignore it.

 _“I don’t know. C’mon, baby girl.”_ You felt your world go off kilter, and for a second you felt as if your world was going to tear apart, but it quickly smoothed out.

It felt like forever. You were floating to and fro, and nothing seemed to bore you. It was just the nothingness and you were consumed by it.

The flashing lights were coming closer and closer together, like contractions, and you tried you hardest to reject it, but it was calling you.

When it happened, it caught you by surprise. You felt like you were drowning but purging at the same time, like you were breathing for the first time in your life, when in reality, all you did was open your eyes.

You felt the bed creak beneath you, heard the traffic dwindling down outside the shitty hotel you were bunking, you saw two pairs of eyes looking at you from above, green and hazel. Your memories come flooding back, and the memories of the time in the void slowly fade away into nothingness.

“You look worried, boys. Where’s the fire?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to say that writer's block had hit me hard, and I'm just trying to survive this semester.  
> So once again I apologize for this crappy chapter. I hope you guys forgive me. ):  
> I'll try to get the writing flowing again, but until then.  
> ♥


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello? It's me. I am alive, yes. I am done, YES. I am finally a college graduate, y'all! And today's my birthday, so here is my gift to you!!!  
> I'm really sorry about the wait, though and I would really like to thank all the followers and subscribers of this fic, because without your support I would definitely not have been able to continue.  
> Writer's block had been a bitch, I took 7 finals since I took 7 classes (20 hours), and I started a serving job recently which would have me come home at like, 2-3 in the morning sometimes.  
> Anyways, I apologize again, and I hope you enjoy the chapter--I know it's not long as usual, but I wanted to give you something for being patient with me.♥

“Oh, thank God!” Dean rushed in and pulled you into an embrace, looking and checking all over your person. “You’ve been out for _hours_ , Y/N.” You looked at the brothers incredulously. There was no way that _that_ was hours. For some reason it felt like weeks, maybe even months.

Quickly you brushed the thought away.

“What the hell did you even wish for?” Your eyes went wide at the thought as you searched back in your memories.

What _did_ you wish for? You couldn’t remember anything past…

You gasped, turning quickly in your spot. You basically did what Dean had done to you to Sam.

“Sam! You’re alright!” His chest rumbled with a heavy chuckle, which cued you to climb off of him.

_Right. Awkward._ That was the first real interaction either of you had with one another in such a long time after all.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s…” Sam coughed into his fist, putting an end to his amusement. “It’s alright. _I’m_ alright.” You nod in response, then turn to Dean with the unspoken question written all over your face.

“Everything’s back to normal. The curse was lifted. Gigantor is _alive_ ,” followed by a bitch face of Dean’s own, “but you…”

“I don’t remember, Dean. Honestly.” You could sense both the concern and the suspicion from Dean, but you brushed it off, working on rebuilding your mental wall.

It was working… for the most part.

The next case Dean found was sudden. Even after Olympia, everything was brushed under the carpet and left for next time, but as usual, the Winchesters trekked on. You were sitting on the musty couch in a dank hotel when Sam and Dean stumbled in, reeking of smoke and booze. You never went into the bars, despite all the Fake IDs you have that say you were legal in the eyes of the U.S. Justice System.

Your walls went up full-time at the barrage of anger and annoyance coming from both of the boys.

“What happened?”

Dean shucked off his jacket, throwing it at his bed in anger.

_“Ruby_ happened.”

“Ruby’s alive?” You breathe hitched in your throat, and your anxiety amped up to the next level. The last time you saw Ruby, Dean was turned into Hellhound Puppy Chow. “How come you never told me she was still alive?”

Sam scowled at the both of you.

“It never came up, and frankly? I don’t think that it’s any of your business.”

“ _What?_ Any of my business?” Your bottom lip trembled at the anger knocking at your door. “Ruby being alive isn’t _any of my business?_ So, it’s not ‘ _any of my business_ ’ that Dean died in my arms, and your _friend_ was responsible for it?”

“ _You shut your mouth_ ,” Sam stomps forward, finger pointed centimeters from your face. “It wasn’t her fault and you _know it_.”

You shove Sam away by the chest, annoyed with his decision to come at you, _again_.

“She sure as hell wasn’t any help, then! _Your girlfriend_ was the one who was all hell-bent on getting you to chase after Lilith. She’s a _demon_ , Sam! Get your head out of your ass and for once in your life, think clearly about this!”

“Grow up and get over yourself, Y/N. Let the adults do what they need to do where children shouldn’t stick their noses where they don’t belong.”

“Adults? _Really?_ I guess I _never want to grow up_ , since from what I seen, adults make _stupid decision!_ ”

At this point, Dean was brimming at the edge with fury.

“Enough! The both of you,” he barked. Both Sam and you backed away instantly.

Sometimes, you forget that Dean trained under Da—John, and John was scary. You cowered in fear, scratching deeply at your shirt directly over your mark.

“We have bigger issues than the both of you bickering like a bunch of children!”

You ignored the burn in your eyes. _Children_ , because that’s what you were. 4 years Sam’s junior, you weren’t even close to the legal age to drink.

“Get changed, the both of you. We have a case, and it’s not waiting around to solve itself.”

“Yes, sir.” You automatically responded.

“I swear it’s like you can’t stand to stay away from each other’s throats,” Dean muttered angrily as you walked towards the bathroom to get ready.

Soon, the three of you were on the road. The car ride was tense, the Impala filled with a thick cloud of tension, and the only sound in your ear was Baby’s engine and the low hum of some random cassette tape from Dean’s collection.

Arriving at the front of the hospital, the three of you locked it in and switched to hunt mode. Sam and Dean acted as the FBI agents, of course. You played the young intern with seemingly bright future in the field of law to be handpicked by the government itself.

How anyone fell for that, you never knew.

Anyways…

_Anna Milton_ , 23, red-headed female, 120 pounds wet, schizophrenic, and on the run.

For two months, she was overcome with delusions, of demons and angels. She would draw them in her sketchbook, and skimming through them, you realized that…

“That’s Revelations,” Dean seemed to have figured it out, too.

Anna’s father was apparently a Deacon—really religious type, which is what the doctors assumed was the source of her condition… but you knew differently.

The room had a charged air to it. You weren’t sure exactly, but it gave you a sinking feeling for some reason.

Thanking the Psychologist, you and the brothers bid your farewells and head on over to the Milton’s household.

Dead. Anna’s parents were dead, and you were graced with the knowledge first-hand by accidently tripping over the bodies.

Blood covered your clothes and the scent of sulphur clung onto your skin and hair, and all you wanted to do was scream. But you stood fast, trying to stay strong in the eyes of the Winchesters.

Realizing that the problem was worse than you anticipated, you hurriedly tracked the escapee to the local church.

Where she felt safe and protected, the dim light shining through the stained-glass windows made you feel hollow, broken—dirty.

After all, why would God care about someone tainted with demon blood such as yourself (not to mention the actual human blood staining your clothes)?

You tread carefully throughout the church, heading for the stairs behind the altar.

A mantra went through your head over and over again—that _“you’re not worthy.”_ You clutched your gun _that much_ closer to your body.

Climbing the stairs, the three of you found Anna in the attic.

She was gorgeous. With a small stature, her fiery, red hair framed her small, angled face; bright, grey eyes gazing back at the brothers in recognition. Your eyes never left her beautiful, fair skin as you mindlessly clawed at your own burn-marred hands.

The voices around you gradually faded into the background—that familiar white noise coming back to ring into your ear. It sounded like whispers coming from hundreds, maybe thousands of other people, despite being one of only four people in the room.

_“Anael must be saved.”_

“Y/N!” Startled, you turn to scowl at Dean, only to notice the short brunette next to Sam.

“It’s you! I saw you at the hotel that Sam was staying at after...” You had no words. That would mean Sam and Ruby were seeing each other during the 4 months that…

“Y/N, this is _not_ the best time to be daydreaming!”

Anna was pushed towards your direction, Dean looking at you like a man on a mission—which, was appropriate.

“Take her and go with Ruby. Take her to the hotel.”

“But!”

“No, buts Y/N! That’s an order, got it?” You nod hesitantly, unsure of what was going on, but you could feel the fear bleeding through your walls.

Everyone was scared—including that _bitch_. That must be one helluva big bad on the loose to get everyone startled like that.

Regardless, you put aside your differences for this one task. Grabbing Anna, you follow Ruby down the stairs and through the wooden doors out into the streets.

Looking around, you scope the area before redirecting the other two towards the hotel.

“You go to the hotel, I’m going to take her somewhere safe.”

“Like hell you will. I’m not going to leave her with a _demon_ ,” you spat.

“Listen, _little girl._ We’re running out of time and we need to get her somewhere safe. _Not_ that little rat fest where you’re holing up. That’s the first place where they’re going to think to look.”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms. “And safe is with _you_? Great, just leave her with one of the things that are coming to look for her. Keep your enemies close, right?”

Ruby rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You hide where you want to, but I’m not going to listen to some child who has no idea what she’s doing. It’s a wonder how Sam can stay with someone as senseless as you are.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” you hiss at her.

Before you could add anything on, you hear foot steps behind you. Turning back, you see two demons coming at you full speed.

“Go! I’ll take care of these two.”

You hear Anna and Ruby’s footsteps leaving the scene, just as the two men come at you full speed.

Planting your feet, you ground yourself for whatever they come at you with.

They both come at you with force, and you try your best to fight them off. You don’t expect them to drop you on your ass, but you feel the air get pushed out of your lungs as your head bounces back against the asphalt.

Swinging your arms up, you try your best to protect yourself from the barrage of kicks and punches coming from the two, and when you finally have the opportunity to look at one of the attackers now straddling your waist, your eyes go wide at the knife in his hands, ready to fall with gravity.

_Finally…_

“Alex, wait.” The one above you froze mid-drop, a nasty scowl donning his face.

“What now?” He growled at his partner, who stood a few feet away with a worried look on his face.

“The boss says to keep her alive.”

“What for!? She’s just a stupid, little human.”

_Ouch._

“Says he needs her. Sounded like something big.” He sounded pretty serious, and at this point you were confused. “Now we need to get out of here before the Winchesters find us.”

The pressure from your abdomen dropped significantly, and you peeked through your eyelids, which happened to close without your knowing. Your world seems to be spinning, and the headache accompanied with it wasn’t helping.

You flinched as a spittle landed on your face as the demon towering over glowered at you.

“How can someone so pitiful be so important?” The two moved out of your immediate sight, the one called Alex muttering angrily under his breath, questioning just _how important_ you were.

The attempt to get up was futile, knowing a few ribs were cracked and you could feel half of your face was swelling. You turned your head a little to see that the demons from before had disappeared into thin air.

Letting out a deep breath, you finally let the heavy feeling in your chest let up. Tears spilled from your eyes and a sob bubbled from deep down, the ache in your body only adding insult to injury.

It felt like ages before you heard the tell-tale sounds of heavy boots running towards your general area.

You were tired, bone-deep tired, and you were losing your grip on reality.

“Dean! Over here!”

_Sammy_.

“Y/N? Y/N! Stay with us, you’re going to be okay.”

“Sammy? De?” Coughing up a little blood, you grimaced at the metallic taste.

“It’s going to be okay, Baby Girl. We’ve got you.”

“It hurts,” you cried. “Why does it have to be this way? I just want it to stop.”

“What do you mean, Baby? What do you want to be stopped?”

You inhaled as deep as you can, tears spilling at the ache of your ribs, but you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“What is it, Y/N?” Sam whispered delicately in a way you haven’t heard in a while.

Peering through your swollen eyelids, you looked Dean straight in the eye, whispering the one word that would end it all.

“Everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I never really thought of an ending for this fic... so I'm just going to keep on writing until I feel like it's necessary for me to stop.  
> I'm still trying to catch up to the show right now, I never got passed the musical episode and I wanted to rewatch the whole series before I continued with watching passed season 10. I'm almost done with Season 9 though, hehe and I'll finally be able to go back to reading fics normally because there are so many with so many different spoilers, so y'know?  
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm still kind of iffy with whichever direction I am heading with this fic, but if it makes you guys happy, I'll definitely keep it up.  
> Comments, Kudos, everything helps!  
> Thanks again, and guys?  
> Peace out, bitches! (but not for good.)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hated the feeling—vulnerability, weakness… but at the same time you welcomed it, reveled in it. You knew you shouldn’t have felt this way, you were a huntress. A Winchester by trade, not name of course. But still, John trained you to be strong, to keep on fighting.
> 
> Maybe this was your time—your moment to fade away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been sitting in my Word Docs forever, and I have been meaning to post it, but I haven't made any headway through the chapter after this.  
> Apologies probably mean nothing to y'all lol, since I'm a little shit and make empty promises!  
> I'll leave a note in the end for y'all to read, until then.. enjoy!

_“Because… she saved my life.”_

_Sam. De._

You were barely getting a grip of reality, flitting in and out of consciousness. The platform beneath you was soft, yet itchy— _a hotel bed_. Your body felt like it was being tugged in every which direction in preparation for the monster truck hauling ass your way.

In other words, not very good.

You hated the feeling—vulnerability, weakness… but at the same time you welcomed it, reveled in it. You knew you shouldn’t have felt this way, you were a huntress. A Winchester by trade, not name of course. But still, John trained you to be strong, to keep on fighting.

Maybe this was your time—your moment to fade away.

You could feel the corner of your lip twitch into a semblance of a smile.

_“She grabbed a coma patient, Dean. 100% unoccupied and vacant.”_

_Hm… what are they talking about?_

You shrugged in what you thought was a physical manifestation, but in reality you shrugged in your mind. You were never one to question what the brothers talk about to one another anymore—especially when you’re borderline dead.

Once again, you were trading your reality for the darkness. Tiring, it was. Back and forth, back and forth again and again.

Your rest in the blackness was interrupted when a knock came from the door.

_“Housekeeping.”_

_Odd… the brothers never let any housekeeping in whatever room you occupy. Ever._

Your thoughts were jumbled by the shift of the bed and a hand on your arm.

“Hey, Baby Girl. You up?”

Groaning, you attempt to peer through your eyelids. Key word— _attempt._

“We have to go, _now_.”

You vehemently tried to shake your head, but the movement jostled your injuries, making tears well up in your eyes.

“Dean, maybe we should—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Sam. Are you crazy? You heard Ruby, there are Demons all over the place. What if something happens when we’re gone?”

“She’s hurt!”

“And we have to go!”

Quietly, Dean hushes you as he pulls you up into his arms bridal style.

“It’s going to be okay, Sweetheart. It’s going to be all okay.”

Your head lolled off to the side, watching Sam peer at you curiously. In a split second, he was back to stuffing both his and Dean’s bags for the trip away.

You half expected to feel the give of soft leather beneath you, but within the next minute or so, you realized that the constant bumping and swaying is from footsteps. The brothers must have been walking to wherever they needed to go. Closing your eyes, you let your body rest for the rest of the way there.

The next time you open your eyes and your ears, the sound of the door slamming startles you into consciousness. You could feel the tug in your heart, and the burning of your Mark.

You hated that feeling so much, but you still don’t understand what it meant.

Two voices, deep and guttural and powerful, ring out in the dingy cabin.

_“Give her to us.”_

_“Are you going to help her?”_

_“No, she has to die.”_

_Castiel,_ you thought. Your heart fluttered just a bit, but it was futile. You knew he only came to the brothers’ aid, since the Winchesters were oh-so important in the supernatural world.

Voice begin to raise, and you feel utterly helpless. You can hear the sounds of a struggle, of violence, but no matter how much you want to, you feel the weight on your chest and the gelatinous give of your legs.

_“Cas, stop… please.” Thud._

“Castiel…” you muttered. Opening your eyes slightly, you could see a look flash across his face before a white light fills the room, both Uriel and Castiel gone.

A painful whimper escaped your lips before you succumbed to the darkness once again.

From heartache, or from your injury, you don’t know.

Maybe it was just you, but it seemed to you that your bodily ache dissipated in the presence of the Angel.

But yeah, maybe it was just you.

The next time you opened your eyes, you felt the mattress beneath you shift. Fingers coursing their way through your hair, your head lolled to the side, eyes peering through the fuzzy haze of unconsciousness.

“Hey, Sweetheart. You’ve been asleep for quite some time now.”

You hummed in response, a small twitch of your lips in amusement as you retorted.

“We have got to stop meeting like this, De.” Your stomach jolted at the hearty chuckle coming from the man you once called brother.

“How you feeling?” You groaned as you shifted yourself to try and sit up.

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t move around too much, you’re still healing.”

Arms wrapped around you, effortlessly shifting you to sit up with your back against the headboard.

Eyes drifting up and around, you could see more clearly now that you were in Bobby’s spare room.

“Where’s Sam? Anna?”

“She’s fine, they’re both fine. Have her locked up in the panic room downstairs until we find out what exactly is going on.

Nodding, you look at Dean questioningly.

“What happened, De?”

With a wry smirk, Dean pushed a stray piece of hair out of your face before responding.

“We’re still not sure about that, Y/N. But it can’t be good if the Angels want her dead.”

“So, that wasn’t a dream? Castiel and Uriel didn’t just go… _poof?_ ”

You watched Dean chuckling under his breath as he shook his head in the negative.

“No, Baby Girl, it wasn’t a dream.” And as if something had shifted, Dean’s demeanor had changed as well. “Listen, Y/N… something big is about to go down. And there are some things that you don’t know about, but I need you to rest up and save your strength, alright?”

Your expression twisted to one of concern and confusion.

_Fucking cryptic Winchesters._

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Sighing heavily, you watched as Dean swiped a hand down his face, an expression riddled with a myriad of emotions flashing across his face.

“I’m not exactly sure myself, to be honest. Y/N, we haven’t exactly told you everything—” Inhaling sharply, you were about to protest before he cut you off. “We haven’t exactly told you _everything_ , but it was better if you didn’t know.”

“You made a promise, Dean. The both of you.” Arms folded across your chest, you glowered at the man sitting beside the bed.

He shrugged, unsure of how to respond that would guarantee that you wouldn’t rain another wave of hellfire on the brothers.

A knock came at the door, prompting the two of you to look that way. Your frown twitched into a grin when you saw Pamela in the door.

“Pamela,” you sighed. As guilty as you still felt about the incident with your last encounter, she was a sight for sore eyes.

_No pun and/or offense intended._

Said woman gave you a playful glare.

“Oh right, psychic,” you chuckle. “How are you, Pamela?”

“Just trying to get the job done,” she responded in kindness. “Seeing as how you aren’t downstairs with the demon, seems to me that I’m doing better than you are.”

Shrugging, you choose to deflect.

“So, what’s new Pam?”

“Not sure yet. How’s about you get your cute, perky little ass up and come downstairs to find out?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, wincing at the excess pressure on your ribs, but you were curious. Mustering up what little strength, you struggled to push your legs off to the side and over the edge of the bed.

Dean stumbled upwards, reaching out to help you relieve your pain. With a glare from you, he threw his hands up in surrender and backed up.

It took time, but you made it down to the Panic Room. Your stomach turned at the thought of walking through the iron door, images of your months of suffering and self-mutilation running through your mind.

A look of pity ran across Pamela’s face as she silently turned to look at you.

 _Don’t,_ you commanded in your thoughts.

Drained, you sat in a spare chair, watching as Pamela began her psychic-mojo.

She demanded Anna to recall her past.

A buzzing began in your ear, a low hum, as you listened to her responses.

“Your father… what’s his name?”

Louder. You clutched at your ears, Dean crouching at your side mouthing at you, asking what was wrong. It took you a second to realize that the noise coming out of your throat was blocking his voice.

“What’s your dad’s name? Your real dad. Why is he angry with you?”

“No. No! No!”

As her screams grew, so did the white noise. It was unbearable, causing you to scream out loud, as you saw into the unknown.

All the pain, all the fear was rushing through and slamming into your walls and you cried.

“Stop it! Why won’t it stop!?”

Whether it was your power, or the power bleeding from Anna, the lights in the room shattered and soon the room was covered in darkness.

You felt arms wrap around you, rocking you back and forth as your continued to cover your ears. You felt the wetness, the blood trickling out of your ears, but you fought for consciousness.

Anna responded in turn, as if your outburst never happened.

“Thank you, Pamela. That helps a lot. I remember now.”

“Remember what?” Sam interjected, confused at what just happened.

“Who I am.” Anna spoke clearly, confidently.

“I’ll bite. Who are you?” Dean quietly asked, making sure to not aggravate your hearing.

Without missing a beat, the redhead responded in turn.

“I’m an angel.”

_Of-fucking-course._

With that, you closed your eyes and let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been since last May since I posted, and everyone's kudos and comments have been keeping me going, but I have been struggling so hard with writer's block. I would look through the transcripts, have so much in my mind for the story, but typing it out is always such a struggle. Even if I carry my writing book around, I can't seem to put anything on paper.  
> I'm like, super sick right now, too. So I'm sitting in my room typing this out for y'all, and I hope everyone knows how much I appreciate the kudos and comments. And I apologize for not even responding to comments, even though I promised myself I would respond to everyone as much as I can.
> 
> However, not only did my laptop like... screw itself over, after I graduated, I started working more, and tried to preoccupy myself and all that. I just came back from a weeklong trip to Europe, and I was actually out of the SPN fandom for the whole year, basically taking the whole year to try and get through Season 10 and 11 at least. And then I get obsessed with Francis of the Filth. (If you know who that is, I love you. If not, please stay far away. *Warning: Cringy as fuck.*)
> 
> Anyways. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. And I'm sorry, Yeah, you're also a little bitch who likes to whine and pass out, but I'm trying my best here! Haha.  
> I just posted another chapter on my [Free At Last](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2644436/chapters/5905472) fic, if y'all into destiel, and if you read the last chapter's notes, you'll read the same thing I'm about to type.
> 
> Y'all are my muse. Your comments and kudos, although have been unanswered, I do read and I let my friends know about it, too. He encourages me to write more, knowing that I have people following my work.  
> And for that I thank you all so very much. It encourages me so much to read how much this fic means to you all, as much as it does to me. So I will try my hardest to dedicate as much time to this fic as I can.
> 
> Thank you once again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Feathers? Why did I survive that night? When Yellow Eyes came and killed my parents?”
> 
> He seemed to be a little ruffled at that.
> 
> Good.
> 
> “Because it is God’s will.”
> 
> You huffed incredulously.
> 
> “Last I remembered, God had checked out a long time ago.”
> 
> “Well, he works—“
> 
> “I swear to all things that are good and evil, if you say that he ‘works in mysterious ways,’ I will kick your feathery, little ass seven ways from Sunday and back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday!  
> Here's another shit chapter that I finished at ass o'clock in the morning.  
> Gotta get ready for work, but hope you enjoy!  
> This is unbeta'd as well. And I tried proof reading, but mistakes will be made!  
> Warning: more self-deprecation (like come on author, stop making reader a little bitch) and reader being a sassy bad-ass. *puts on cool sunglasses.*  
> This is also posted on my fanfiction.net with the same name, (reviews and favourites appreciated for those who use the platform!)

Opening your eyes, you sighed heavily. You were tired of being the weak one—a sad excuse of a Winchester-copycat. Tears spilled silently, landing on your pillow in secret.

It was dark in the room, meaning Dean probably dropped you back off in Bobby’s guest room so they could have their little angelic pow-wow session in the den.

Thankfully, you had abilities that allowed you to listen within your perimeters without physically being there.

“Anyone want to tell me what the hell just happened in there?”

“You tell us. You’re the powerful psychic.”

“Well, so is she.”

“The boys looked at one another incredulously.

“What the hell does that mean exactly?”

“I don’t know, boys. Either something’s happening, or there’s something terribly wrong with her.”

You huff in amusement. Of course there was something wrong with you. What other explanation was there?

You’re _broken_ , unmendable.

“Her thoughts, her pain. I don’t know how she’s lasted this long.”

“What are you talking about? She’s just hit a rough patch.”

“You listen to me now, and you listen hard. You two need to figure this out, fast. I could give two shits on how you do it, but that girl in there? _Your sister_? She’s _dying_. And if there’s anything I can say for sure, it is that you Winchesters are too stubborn to realize it, and you won’t realize it until it’s too late.”

“You don’t think we haven’t tried?”

“No, Sam. _Dean_ has. But _you_ haven’t.”

There was a moment of silence, a wave of guilt and sadness overcoming you.

Two solid knocks came through to your wall.

 _Frikkin’ psychics,_ you tsked.

With your thoughts, you knocked back at Pamela’s mind, hoping she could hear it.

You also forgot to realize that Pamela was the best psychic alive, she knew how to bypass your wall and go straight for your thoughts.

“We don’t seem to be alone in this conversation anymore. But I’m warning you. Don’t be stupid. Do something before one of you dies, or worse.”

You tuned out after that, absent-mindedly collecting information on what was going on downstairs.

Anna fell, her grace falling with her, and the current job: find it and hold onto it.

The boys researched, finding the location of a physical drop site—a comet that landed nearby where she was born, when she was born.

You opted to stay back and hold down the fort. It wasn't like you were going to be of any use or anything like that.

It was only a day later when you had gotten a call from Dean. The tree was there, but the grace wasn't, so they were on their way back to keep researching.

Sighing, you turned in the bed and closed your eyes, hoping for sleep to overtake you.

Lately, that just seems to be all you've been doing, and all it was doing was reinforcing your belief that you were everything but useful. And it broke your heart.

"You doing good, Princess?"

Your gaze flickered to Bobby, dull and without emotion.

It had been several weeks since your call with Dean. They never made it back to Bobby's, and they had neglected to call to update.

At first you were pissed, like usual... Dean knew better than to leave you in the dark. You hated that you were MIA; however, after the first several days, you change into something that you never wanted to be.

You got angry, trying your hardest to block out those disgusting things— _feelings._ Useless things they were.

Flitting through the motions, you went about your day, keeping your mind off anything and everything; day in and day out, juggling between cursing everything in existence and accepting for things as they were.

You were just tired of it all, and it was just as if all the fight you had in you had just vanished. Unlike last time, you had no will to bounce back. Why waste your energy and time when you knew it was just going to be a continuous, vicious cycle all over again?

It was always niggling in the back of your mind, but you were convinced now that the brothers thought you were incapable, useless.

Expendable.

And why wouldn’t they think that?

Sam and Dean were out hunting. Always hunting. Finding cases during this lull in midst of the fight against Demons and Angels. You could have been researching, helping out in any way that you could but you were done.

You half convinced yourself that you were finally out. That one dream that every hunter believed they would achieve once they reached the end of the long stretch of road they called life.

Who knows? Maybe hunting wasn't the thing for you. Maybe the supernatural was meant to prevail, that it was a fruitless effort to fight against the forces of evil in this universe.

Maybe the Apocalypse was meant to happen, and all you were doing was standing in the way of the inevitable, fighting alongside the Winchesters.

Who knows?

The familiar sound of fluttering wings shattered through the deafening noise of your mind, shaking you back to the reality that you had fought so hard to ignore. You were sat at your couch in Bobby’s parlor as per usual, knees pulled towards your chest. _It_ had been itching lately, burning more like, and you fought your best to ignore it until you couldn't.

You felt his presence without your gaze wavering from off of the floor. And through it all, you still managed to reach up under your shirt and dig into your mark.

“What are you doing? Is that blood? Are you hurt?”

 You ignored his questions for your own, your sight moving to the scars all over your body reminding you of the night that should've ended it all

“Feathers? Why did I survive that night? When Yellow Eyes came and killed my parents?”

He seemed to be a little ruffled at that.

Good.

“Because it is God’s will.”

You huffed incredulously.

“Last I remembered, God had checked out a long time ago.”

“Well, he works—“

“I swear to all things that are good and evil, if you say that he ‘works in mysterious ways,’ I will kick your feathery, little ass seven ways from Sunday and back.”

“Who are you to question my Father’s will?”

“Why won’t you answer my question?”

“Why do you ask such stupid questions?”

“Why the hell are you here, Castiel?”

For a moment, you were left in silence. You hadn’t realized the increasing volume of both of your voices as you quipped back and forth with questions unanswered.

Slowly, your eyes travelled upwards, meeting the Angel’s blue eyes with your own. It was kind of funny, watching the celestial-being struggle so hard coming up with an answer that would attempt to appease your state of being.

“I have matters to discuss with Bobby… However, Dean asked me. To check on you.” He responded quietly.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“Why the hell does he care?” You spat. “If he really wanted to know then he would've checked in himself.”

“You’re unhappy.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I don’t need you to pop in just so you can babysit me.”

“I assure you, Y/N that this is not Dean’s intention, nor does Dean see you in that manner. He knows that you are more than capable as a woman and as a hunter.”

“Whatever. Think what you want, _Angel_ , but that’s definitely not the way that _I_ see it. And just so you know, Bobby is in town on a supply run. He won’t be back for a while…”

You turned your head to look outwards once more, your fingers a constant presence over your ribs, dancing along the damages done.

When you hadn’t heard the signature sounds of wings, you turned back to the Angel once again, with a tad bit of annoyance.

 _“What? Go. Away.”_ You shooed him away with a flick of your fingers, waiting for him to disappear into thin air like usual but you watched as he stood fast, watching you with precision.

You blushed involuntarily as he narrowed his eyes at you, tilting his head slightly as if you were the most puzzling thing to have crossed his path throughout his entire existence.

“Why do you Winchesters have a knack in letting your thoughts lead you astray?

“But then again, it is also a _very_ Winchester thing to do. It can get very frustrating.”

You could feel the muscles in your face tighten as you scrunch it up, looking as if you had smelled something powerfully foul.

“One, what the fuck are you on about? And two, _for the record_ , I am _not_ a Winchester.”

“But you wish you were.”

“No,” you responded gruffly.

“You used to. Some time ago.”

“How the hell would you know? Spying on my thoughts now, Douchebag?”

Castiel puffed up slightly, as if offended by your accusation.

“I _do not_ spy. _Angels_ do not _spy._ I have… heard your prayers.”

“What the hell? So you’ve just been listening in on my prayers?”

“Believe me when I say that I do not do it on purpose. It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“You have to understand that… the way we perceive things. It’s almost equivalent to what you humans call a _radio_.”

“What the fuck? So you Angels just perch on your little clouds? Hearing, seeing, and not doing anything about what was going on down here?”

“I was commanded to not intervene.”

“And, I haven’t prayed since I was a kid!” 

Once again, the Angel was stunned into silence. 

“ _What_ , pray tell, was the purpose of bringing this all up? So you can sit there, all holy and better-than-thou, letting me know that I’m not worth it? Cause believe me, I know. I prayed every day, every night, hoping that someone—some _thing_ , was out there listening to me.” 

The sound of the door opening and shutting cut through the thick tension in the air, effectively cutting off the Angel’s response. 

“Princess?”

Without taking your eyes off the angel, you called out in response. 

“In here, Bobby.” Narrowing your eyes, you continued.  “We have company.”

Bobby walked through the doorway, arms precariously balancing several brown, paper bags, his eyes instantly finding the heavenly soldier. Only then did your little staring contest stop when Castiel’s eyes turn towards the older hunter.

“ _Aw, hell._ What do _you_ want?”

“Hello, Bobby. I have matters to discuss with you. It is of great import.”

“Aw shucks. Can it wait? Gotta prep for my high tea society in an hour.” 

You couldn’t help but let out a giggle. Bobby was always a smart ass, and in the face of Heaven’s most fearful, he hadn’t failed to disappoint. 

Castiel shook himself out a little, a little surprised at the backtalk from the hunter. You couldn’t help but watch the sway of his long trench coat, mesmerized by the rustling of the fabric.

“I’m sorry, but your… _high tea society_ can wait. It’s about Sam and Dean.”

Bobby’s face turned down in a scowl.

“ _Balls_.”

Always hating it when words of danger or discouragement followed with “Sam and Dean.”

Standing up, you decided you had heard enough. Not wanting to get in-between another one of these stupid situations that the brothers had found themselves smack dab in the middle of.

“And where do you think you’re going, little lady?”

You grabbed onto one of your hoodies hanging off of the dingy coat hanger by the door, swinging it around to slide your arms in.

“Out.”

“Like hell you are… Y/N!”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled the door open and walked out into the chilled air, ignoring the second call of your name. The New Year was approaching and the winter winds of Sioux Falls, South Dakota were unforgiving. You tightened your hoodie across your chest, milling about down the stairs and through the piled-high metal graveyard.

You knew it was a childish move, storming out like that. But who could blame you, right? You weren’t exactly dealt with the best hand of cards, nor the best childhood, but if you were going to act like a child at one point, why not this be one of your free cards?

It’s wasn’t like you had any parents to tell you otherwise.

Bobby was great. Really. But, you knew that although he had a soft spot for you, Sam and Dean were still considered a priority, since they were out there fighting the good fight while you sat and leeched off his resources. _Again._

But you needed some time to heal, to come to terms with what was going on around you. Figured you had been swept into a world of shotguns, rock salt, exorcisms and everything that goes bump in the night; you never had a moment to truly comprehend what the situation was that you were in.

Now? Dealing with Angels? The _Apocalypse_? Even that was a bit too crazy for what was considered your normal life. And you were a friggin’ empath.

Quietly, you scoffed to yourself, shoving your hands into your pockets.

It was quiet out, the sun settling across the horizon. The temperature would drop even more soon once the light faded into darkness. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Bobby was more than paranoid enough, so you trusted that he kept certain protections and barriers against evil around the perimeter of his salvage yard.

You were safe.

You just had to keep telling yourself that.

You were safe.

You were loved.

You were cared for.

So, why did it feel like you were anything but that?

You found yourself settled into the passenger side of a busted 1982 Cadillac Deville convertible, scooting deeper into the seat so you could settle your knees along the dashboard, looking up at the sky to see the stars.

A thought came up. Nostalgia.

You missed the simpler times when you used to think that the stars were just angels looking down on everyone.

Now, you knew that wasn’t the case.

It was really quiet out that night, strangely so, in a way where you could believe for a second that you were a normal girl, lacking some serious psychic mojo.

But, you remember. Not everything is all rainbows and unicorns in this dank, dark life.

Breathing out, you watched the puff of condensed air floating through the creeping darkness, the only light being the moon starting its rise on high.

You were really craving a cigarette, not to mention, now that you were in this rust-bucket, you really missed your car.

 _I should go get that soon._ _Just in case._

You chuckled. Yeah, just in case shit goes South.

Patting around your pockets out of habit, you sighed in disappointment when you realized you had quit smoking a while back, after the Trickster debacle, when Dean started to complain about the smell that lingered whenever you came into the hotel in the mornings, or whenever you flicked your Zippo on after a hunt.

Soon, with everything going on, it had slipped your mind every time you wanted one.

It was annoying, but at least Dean was watching after you then.

Sighing, you settled deeper into the seat, getting comfortable and feeling a wave of sleepiness overcome you.

You should head back in, Bobby was probably worried.

But you didn’t want to be anywhere near Castiel.

He made you so angry, yet you couldn’t help the warmth blossoming in your chest every time he was near or the need to tear at your Mark.

Being near him, you wanted to scream and shout, and cry and laugh all at once.

Every time.

You _hated_ him. You hated him for making you feel anything.

Lost in your thoughts, you couldn’t help but jump and instinctively reach for a gun at your waist when you noticed the presence in front of you.

Feeling around, you cursed yourself at your recklessness as your fingers touched nothing but air.

You forgot your gun on the couch back inside.

Angrily, you righted up in your seat before clamoring out.

“ _Uriel,_ ” you muttered sweetly through clenched teeth. “What the hell do _you_ want?” You quickly followed with a drop of your face.

You could hear the condescending tone in just his chuckle.

_God, what a dick._

“You know, for a believer, you still seem to forget your place in all of this.”

You laughed in response.

“My _place_? It’s funny to think that you can assume what ‘my place’ is, just because you’re an ‘Angel of the Lord.’” You sarcastically used quotation marks with your fingers just to drive the point home. At this point of life and death, in life, status means fuck-all.

“And I stopped. Believing, that is.”

“Mind your attitude. You insolent, mud monkey.”

You could feel the deep timbre of his voice straight through to your bones, but you kept your head held high and an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“I’m sorry. I digress. Also, I reiterate. What the fuck do you want, _Dick_?” You snap back.

You watched in amusement as Uriel seemed to bristle at that.

“Well, it seems like you still won’t learn.” Uriel took a step closer, looking down as he fidgeted with his cufflinks. “Unfortunately for us,” he continued, “Heaven’s Host commands that they need your help.”

“For what?” You scoff.

“There seems to be… a demon in our midst. Hunting down my brothers and sisters.”

Time freezes for a moment, and before you could stop it, laughter bubbles from deep within.

“How _dare_ you?” Uriel growls out. “I should smite you from where you stand!”

You wipe at a tear that threatens to fall from your eyes, as one arm is clutched around your waist.

“ _Ahhhhh_ ,” you trail. “I needed that.” Straightening yourself up, you look straight into Uriel’s eyes, who happened to step within your immediate reach.

“Enough!” The Angel roared.

“You realize that you’re talking to an _empath_ , right? What in God’s green earth, no offense, would Heaven need an _empath_ for? Let alone a shitty one!”

“You’re _very_ _powerful_ , yet still a fool.”

“Powerful? Yeah, right. I can barely keep my sanity in check, let alone my abilities. Not to mention, why would Heaven want to use my powers? Am I not _tainted_ with Demon blood? Figured you wouldn’t touch me with a 10-foot pole if it came down to it.”

Uriel takes a step back, giving you enough space to breathe easily.

“It’s true that you are an abomination.”

“Gee, thanks.” You interrupt. Cutting yourself off at the dangerous look in his glance.

“However, you might be of some use to us. To get to your dear brother. Dean.”

You could feel a powerful eye-roll coming on, but you hold it at bay.

“I don’t see how none of you Angels can get it through your thick, fucking skulls. For the last time, they do _not_ care about me! If you want his attention, show up with booze, pie, and chicks with double D’s. Keep me the fuck out of it.”

“You dare defy Heaven’s orders?”

“I dare to question how you dumbasses can’t even keep your own siblings in check. That you would need help from an _abomination_ for one little demon. What, can’t get it up? Tiny, pest control making you limp?”

“Mind your tongue. It is not just _any_ demon. We have _Alastair_ in our grasps, and you _will_ help us.”

“And if I don’t?” You retort.

Uriel curses under his breath, or what you believe is cursing as he angrily spits at you.

“Whoa, no need to call me names. I thought Angels didn’t curse.”

You watched Uriel’s face twist in confusion.

“You understood that?”

“Yeah?” You shrugged. “You just called me a—”

“ _How?_ That was in _Enochian._ ”

You grin wide, although you were confused yourself.

“Hey, that’s pretty good. Maybe I’m fluent in angel, because I fell from heaven, huh?” You snickered at your own joke, lost in yourself as Uriel sneers.

“I don’t see what he sees in you.” The response catches you by surprise, a scowl placed on your face.

“ _Wait!_ _What_?”

You’re taken aback, as you wait for a response. Uriel suddenly takes a step forward, gripping you tight by the arm, and with a flap of his wings, you feel the earth shift from under your feet.

 _Definitely_ not the answer you were looking for.

 

 _Man_ , Bobby was going to _kill_ you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, confession time.   
> (I know some people also like my little rants and comments at the end, haha. But it's not the same!)
> 
>  
> 
> I think I just started to realize something about why my writing is so inconsistent.  
> I just recently came out to my best friend about me writing fanfiction.  
> I'm always reading fics where people are always talking about their little Destiel fan group chats and stuff, how it helps them when it comes to their writing and stuff.  
> But, I don't have any friends who watch Supernatural, like at all. So, I'm alone in my own little fan world.  
> Like, you all don't understand how self conscious I am about my writing, like.. I'll tell people that one of my hobbies is writing, but I won't let anyone ever read it cause I'm basically /ashamed/ of it.  
> My best friend, bless him, I told him that my fic was a reader insert, as well as my Destiel one, and he encourages me so much to continue and finish, and it really helps, but I think another encouragement factor is that y'all actually read through my shit.  
> Like, Kudos and Comments? Waking up to emails of that shit actually make my heart jump, and I get those happy tears because people /want/ to read it.  
> I still haven't read my best friend anything from this fic, but hopefully one day I will be proud of what I do and maybe I'll be able to come out my shell a little more.  
> Anyways, rant over.  
> I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. I know it took me so freaking long to get through with it. (The last chapter was basically already done for months before posting, when I was writing this chapter.)  
> But I am currently working on my next chapter, some good stuff coming out guys.  
> Anyways,  
> Thanks for reading.  
> Peace out, bitches!  
> ♥


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Heaven. I’m in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. I seem to find the happiness I seek. When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek.”
> 
> You didn’t know what it was, whether or not it was because he was a demon or if it was just the ambiance in the air.
> 
> The added singing was just plain creepy, and Alastair was genuinely happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! A little over a week, but I'm finally done with this one haha.  
> This is a 2 or 3 part chapter based off 4x16 [ "On the Head of the Pin," ](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=4.16_On_the_Head_of_a_Pin_\(transcript\)) so bear with me. I am working on it as I post, but I have to get ready for work now!  
> Anyways, enjoy ♥

You felt sick. Not only from the impromptu kidnapping from the asshole of an Angel, but also from the bad vibes that were coming from the room beyond the iron door before you. You couldn’t help the shudder go through your whole body as you heard the chuckle echo throughout the room, practically shaking the very walls.

But, you knew. It was your powers that amplified the fear and the pure horror of that simple reaction. You knew now that it was your powers, the ones you try so hard to hide from, that have developed enough to where you were becoming more… _in_ - _tune_ with all things “otherworldly.”

Honestly, it was scaring you, but without anyone having any idea of how to control it, it would just get worse over time.

Taking a minute, you shook your head back and forth as if attempting to rid yourself of the fear. Sighing in preparation, you turned to the Angel behind you, demanding for some answers.

“Okay, I’m here now. Albeit _involuntarily_. What do you want from me?”

 “Your help,” Uriel casually said. As if it was the most obvious answer. As if he hadn’t just plucked you from the middle of Sioux Falls to…

You looked around, trying to find some kind of clue to where you were. There was a lack of... well, anything, giving the whole place a very warehouse-esque vibe, and there was absolutely nothing to even hint to where you were located.

It was all grey walls and concrete floors, and in your experience, you learned that these kinds of places were the typical go-to’s for whenever any big bad tried to be intimidating.

It was cliché, and honestly, it’s getting kind of old.

“Where the hell are we, even?” You asked, grimace on your face in utter confusion.

Without a verbal response, you heard the snap of Uriel’s fingers and felt a familiar shift on the ground, only with extra weight added hanging from your limbs and the feel of the cold, hard concrete under you.

 _Chains_.

Your eyes instinctively flickered back and forth, failing to spot the _rude fucker_ who put you in this situation, but the feeling of the heavy sent shock down your spine, and all of a sudden you froze.

It was a delayed reaction on your part, however your senses sharpened and you felt a sudden panic come over you. Your flight-or-flight instincts geared up as your thoughts flashed to distant memories and nightmares of black eyes and bloody knives. You hadn’t had those dreams in a while, but the feeling of heavy shackles on your wrists and ankles made you turn into the quivering mess you used to be as soon as your eyes opened from your nightmare.

You hadn’t even realized you closed them in the first place. Squeezed shut as if it could block out everything around you.

Chest heavy, labored breathing, you could almost smell the sulfur lingering in the air, clinging to your clothes, the blade brandishing against your exposed skin, and the blood trickling down simply by gravity.

“It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head. Wake up, Y/N. Wake up!”

Pure evil radiating from the presence nearby shook you out of your thoughts. You sat, motionless and in fear.

 _Demon._ And not just any kind of Demon.

“You know, believing that this is all _just_ _a dream_ might make it easier to get through the pain. The _fear_. But then, what would be the fun in that?”

His voice, nasally, and only what you could describe as _slick oil_. Making your skin crawl, as if your very skin feared the being in front of you, wanting to rip itself off your flesh and bones.

You stared at the sight before you: a possessed man chained to a six-point star as if he were being crucified. Beneath, the floor was drawn on in white chalk, depicting a large version of the Devil’s Trap that you’d never seen before.

The design looked older than time, powerful, yet the etchings within the symbol looked almost familiar.

“What’s the matter, Y/N. Demon got your tongue?”

He cackled to himself, as if he was the funniest being in existence.

You felt sick, and without missing a beat, whatever was in your stomach mixed with heavy bile lurched from your stomach and you spilled all over the floor.

Your head was pounding, and you could feel the very depths of your soul writhing against the dark.

The sound of rustling came from beside you as two figures appeared out of thin air.

“What is the meaning of this, Uriel?” The low, gravelly voice demanded, sending a different shudder through your body. You berated yourself for not being able to keep your body’s reaction in check.

 “Leverage.” Uriel said easily. “If he doesn’t do as we ask, we have something we can hold against him.”

Your eyes welled with tears as you kept your gaze leveled at the ground beside you.

“This is completely unnecessary.” Castiel growled, stepping forward as if to place himself between the two of you in order to protect you from Uriel’s words.

“Why can’t you all just leave me alone?” You choked out, interrupting the silent duel. You felt the Angels’ gaze linger on you making you want to shy away and curl up into a ball. Your instincts shouted for you to hide from the sheer power that was radiating and clashing throughout the room.

“Angels, Demons… _Humans_. Why can’t I just be left alone? Why can I not just exist as _Y/N Y/L/N_ and not always bunched together with _them._ ” You reached forward to wipe at your face from the fallen tears, but the tight tug of the chains prevented you from doing so.

“Whatever. Take what you want— _do_ what you want. I don’t care anymore. It’s not like anyone ever listens to what I have to say.”

Castiel stepped closer to your body, unsure of what to do or say.

“Y/N…” It was said quietly, mournfully, and your heart ached.

“It’s time, Castiel.” Uriel interrupted before the other Angel could say anything more.

With a flap of both of their wings, you were once again left alone to your thoughts, with Alastair humming quietly from his spot. You felt your body go numb. Relaxing. Hanging heavy and unmoving as you sat there on the floor against the pillar.

 “You must be the _powerful psychic_.” His voice boomed, piercing through your mind. “Oh yes, I know all about you, Y/N. The demon blood, the _emotions._  If I could guess, you probably could do a _lot_ more of that than you think. Especially with Sammy boy by your side.”

You peered through your eyelashes, watching a sick, sadistic smirk dawn across Alastair’s face.

“Hmm… I can see why he would be interested with you. Although, I never understood why Azazel was always so interested in you _humans._ Always playing dress-up with his little dolls and pretending to create an army for war. Why do that when you can string them up and paint them all red and pretty?”

You shrugged, unsure of how to respond.

“You would never believe how… _artful_ you could become down in the Pit. Just ask Dean.”

At your silence, Alastair began to hum again.

“Why so quiet? What? Dean-y Dearest never told you? Shocked? Are you finally realizing how _little_ you are? How _insignificant_ you are in the grand scheme of things?”

He chuckles.

“Honey, I think you know that it’s almost the end of the show, and Sam and Dean are the main event. Not to say that you aren’t important in any of this.”

Noise came from the other side of the door from across the room, effectively cutting off the Demon’s prolonged speech.

In your silence, you hadn’t realized how long or how slow time had passed, or if time passed at all. The long drawl of Alastair’s voice seemed to drag the one-sided conversation along longer than you wanted, but now you watched as he settled back into silence.

“Son of a bitch!” You heard Dean shout from behind the door, startling you out of your trance. Glancing at the wall, the door swung open and the man himself walked himself forward with heavy feet. In front of him, he pushed along a metal cart, covered in cloth to hide what could only be an array of tools hiding beneath.

Another cloud passed through the room as he entered, and your lip quivered at the fear, the longing, and the _wrongness_ of it all.

Peeking upwards, you see Dean’s eyes flicker to your own, his jaw clenched tight and twitching.

“Y/N? You good, Baby?” You looked back down into your lap, the only response being the raise of your thumb from your bunched up fist.

The sound of singing rings throughout the room, causing you to flinch from the sudden change of mood.

“ _Heaven. I’m in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak. I seem to find the happiness I seek. When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek.”_

 You didn’t know what it was, whether or not it was because he was a demon or if it was just the ambiance in the air.

The added singing was just plain creepy, and Alastair was genuinely happy.

You watched as Dean pulled off the cloth, eyes going wide at what looked like torture devices instead of the tools you originally thought. There was an array of different items covering both shelves, different jugs and containers filled to the brim of whatever substances.

Of course it wouldn’t be normal tools, why would you have thought otherwise?

Alastair’s laugh booms as the sound bounces off the walls in the cold, dark room and you can’t help but hunch inwards, envious of how easy Dean could just shrug it off.

“I’m sorry. This-this is a very _serious_ , very _emotional_ situation for you.” The demon’s voice hiccupped with every repressed giggle. “I shouldn’t laugh, it’s just that—I mean… are they _serious_? They sent _you?_ To torture _me?_ ”

Dean stepped dangerously close to Alastair, eyes focused and shoulders hunched as if he was ready to attack.

“You’ve got one chance. One. Tell me who’s killing the angels. I want a name.”

“You think I’ll see all your scary toys and spill my guts?”

A smirk flashed across Dean’s face, and him being the smart ass that he was, he sarcastically responded. “Oh, you’ll spill your guts. One way or another. I just didn’t wanna ruin my shoes.”

_Ooh, sassy._

You chuckled quietly to yourself. Dean has had those boots for years, and he had all sorts of blood, guts, fluids and unmentionables on those same boots.

“Oh, yeah.” Alastair cut through your inner monologue.

“Now answer the question.”

“Or _what_? You’ll work me over? But then, maybe you don’t want to. Maybe… you’re, _ah_ … scared to.”

The tension rose in the air, and you could feel a tightening in your chest as it thickened.

 _Dean,_ you realized. He was _scared_.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Wavering, he was putting up a front.

“Not entirely. You left part of yourself back in the Pit. Let’s see if we can get the two of you back together again, shall we?”

Visions clouded your mind. Flashes of hooks and knives and flesh going through your head the same as the day Dean came back from Hell.

 _Innocent souls._ Tortured and ruined. And you could _feel_ them. The hundreds, _thousands_ , hanging, their whole bodies torn apart and then mended whole.

It was like your nightmare. Except it was reality.        

“You’re gonna be disappointed,” Dean spoke darkly as he turned to walk to the cart. His eyes flicked to yours, and he saw the look of fear across your face.

“Y/N, close your eyes. I don’t want you watching.” You couldn’t do anything but watch. The way Dean strode over, all confident and cavalier. Once he stood in front of the cart, he toyed with the different tools, organizing them and straightening them as if he were an artist.

But then again, maybe he was.

“You have not disappointed me so far. Come on,” Alastair egged on, “You gotta want a little payback for everything I did to you. For all the pokes and prods… _Hm?_ ”

Your heart thud, Dean seemed impassive, but you knew. You knew Dean and his tendencies and he was waging a bloody war in his own mind.

Despite Dean not replying, Alastair continued. He was toying with Dean, you knew.

“No? Um… hm… how about for all the things I did to your _daddy_?”

_Dad?_

Images of blood and flesh and bones flickered through your mind. Manifested souls barely hanging onto the memories of their humanity by the edge of their fingertips just to be stepped on, ripped apart and made whole again. No matter how much they begged, they were stuck in eternal.

It was Hell. Literally.

And John was in the pit? Of course he was, he sold his _soul_ for Dean. There was no other option for John other than to go straight down, but still you couldn’t help but be surprised at the admission.

Alastair knew, as well as you, that he had hit a soft spot when Dean’s head shot up, eyes narrowed.

“Dean, no. He’s baiting you.” You croaked.

Alastair continued, unfazed by your warning nor by Dean’s silence.

“I had your _Pop_ on my rack for close to a century…”

“You can’t stall forever,” Dean interjected, fiddling with the various tools, occasionally brushing his hand over the whiskey handle.

“John Winchester. Made a good name for himself. A _hundred_ years, and after each session… _well,_ I’d make him the same offer I made you.”

“What is he talking about, Dean?” You quietly asked, afraid of the consequences of your curiosity. You could feel the hesitation rolling off of Dean. The fear, the anxiety, and the twisted sadness in his very soul.

Instead of the hunter’s voice, Alastair continued in answer of your question.

“I’d put down my blade… if he picked one up.”

You stilled at the answer, confirming your suspicions at the whole idea of torture. You had seen your fair share during hunts, always trying to find clues and answers from demons or other monsters. But never had you ever thought that _Dean_ would be the one who would be the one inflicting pain, not on demons, but on _human souls_. As if he were a demon himself.

“Just give me the demon’s name, Alastair.” Dean stared the racked demon coolly.

Alastair continued as if Dean hadn’t said anything, too caught up in his own story.

“But he said nein _each_ and _every_ time. Oh, damned if I couldn’t break him.”

Dean began to remove his jacket. Silently. Precise. You watched as he held himself with such an air of confidence, making himself comfortable for what was to come.

And you knew what was coming.

Folding up his green, militant jacket, he slid it on the bottom shelf of his cart.

The Demon’s voice garbled in the background as your head was filled with such disgusting feelings and images. Whether it was from Alastair or from Dean, you could’ve never been able to tell the difference, but you felt woozy, nauseous even.

A burning feeling made its way down your throat as Dean took a swig from his bottle of cheap whiskey. It made you gag, but you figured that if Dean were to rely on his alcohol abuse, right now would be as good as an excuse as any.

 _Thirty years._ Dean was in Hell for thirty years, and you knew nothing of it. You wish you could have taken a swig out of that bottle as well, but you were still bound to the concrete pillar, chained like an outdoor pet.

The sound of falling water recaptured your attention, as you focused on Dean pouring some in a goblet.

“ _Holy water? Come on._ Grasshopper, you’re gonna have to get creative to impress me.”

He was being a condescending ass, but you knew it would hurt him regardless. He was still a Demon after all.

“You know something, Alastair? I could still dream. Even in hell. And over and over and over, you know what I dreamt? I dreamt of this moment.”

Nervousness crept through your body, and Alastair’s face twitched in fear of what was to come. Despite being the master of torture, he couldn’t have gotten to where he was now without having to experience it firsthand.

Especially by his very own protégé.

Dean continued while picking up a syringe, “Believe me, I got a few ideas.” Filling it with the holy water, he glances over at you and then to Alastair, spraying a little water to release the air bubbles.

“Let’s get started.”

As soon as Dean stepped up to Alastair, sticking the needle through his skin and into his veins, releasing the Demon-toxin, you could feel the burning from the inside, the searing pain as it travelled through your body.

It was almost poetic when your screams matched Alastair’s.

Vision bleary, teeth tightly gritted, you realized it was going to be another trial for you to overcome.

It was just the beginning, oh but how much you would pay for it to end.

“Y/N!” Dean’s voice boomed through the ringing in your ears.

“Hmm… and what a powerful empath she is,” Alastair panted. “Human and Demon alike, she can’t distinguish the pain, the feelings.”

“Shut up, Alastair” Dean growled.

“Keep going, Dean.” You pleaded. You could feel how Dean was torn between finding the answers for the Angels and hurting you, but you knew what the right choice was.

“So what’s it going to be, Dean-o? Are you willing to hurt her for your precious _Angels?_ ”

“Keep going, Dean! Don’t worry about me, this is more important. So, just keep going!” You cried out.

With that, you felt another pulse go throughout your body, tears burning and vision further blurred through tears.

Your screams echoed throughout the halls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, and yes, I know.  
> I don't like transcripted shit, either but that was the only way I could even try to capture Alastair.  
> He's a really hard character to write in my opinion, and this is a major plot point for how I'm trying to mold the Reader-Insert character, as well as their powers.  
> Shit is going to happen.  
> And I'm trying my hardest to keep up with writing, but half the time I'm too tired and want to sleep lol.  
> I've picked up a second gig, so I'm literally working 6-7 days a week, and trying to find time to go to the gym, it gets hectic.  
> But don't worry my loves. More to come.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and as always-  
> Peace out, bitches. ♥


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